


Socially Awkward

by Hopeful_Puppy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Married Mary Morstan/John Watson, Molly called it!, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23020288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopeful_Puppy/pseuds/Hopeful_Puppy
Summary: There was a shot fired. The clear ringing of a gun... But it wasn't his. Sherlock grins as he realises he was saved by the one man who can create a brand of chaos even Mycroft is hard pressed to control. And all without even being present. It's always nice to know your personal guardian angel is still hanging around and annoying your elder brother...
Comments: 33
Kudos: 231





	1. Saviour

* * *

Sherlock determinedly raised the handgun to the German’s head. Aiming for the middle of the forehead, Sherlock looked into Magnussen’s dead, shark-like eyes and saw emotion. A feeling of triumph momentarily washed through him at the sight of unbridled surprise and fear in those eyes, but it was fleeting as he focused on his next action. He made to pull the trigger. A shot rang out. It took Sherlock a moment to realise as he lay on the ground with John’s solid, protective hand on his back, that the shot fired wasn’t his. He dimly remembered ducking as soon as he registered an unknown bullet emerging from the head he was aiming at, John only two seconds ahead of him in reaction time. As he lay on the ground beside John, surrounded by special ops and staring at the cooling body in front of him, there was a moment of pause before the whole area descended into a chaos that even Mycroft was hard pressed to control. He couldn’t help the smirk that spread over his face at the scene before him. There was only one man he knew that had perfected the art of chaos to the point where he didn’t even have to be present to create it. Not even Moriarty was that good, though Sherlock would grudgingly admit his nemesis had come close. Even as they were being led away in handcuffs, the look Mycroft send Sherlock had his smirk widening into a grin.

Miles away, sitting in a fairly sturdy tree, Harry Potter slipped back on his glasses. He’d had his eyes magically healed as soon as he was legally able, but had kept his glasses to avoid unwanted attention and unnecessary headaches while he was still in the wizarding world. Learning his eyesight would deteriorate to the point of blindness had been a very good incentive to get the procedure done, but the extra enhancements, which improved his eyesight to a vampiric standard, he had paid only fifteen galleons extra for had increased his less than exuberant attitude towards it. Harry took a moment to gaze in the direction of the erupting chaos. He saw the helicopter circling above the building and dark spots of movement on the ground below it. Relaxing against the trunk of the tree he was sitting on, Harry couldn’t but think that his actions were worth it, even if it meant killing a man.

Truthfully, Harry would’ve offered to assassinate Magnussen himself, as he found the man more morally inept than even Rita Skeeter. Even then, not only did Skeeter have slightly more morals, she was infinitely more tolerable to be around. Harry had only spent five minutes within the man’s presence and in that time had used every trick in every book known to man, to hold himself back from breaking the shark’s nose. He was still thanking every deity he knew of for not being recognised at the time. Regrettable as it was, killing Magnussen the way he did had saved the Holmes brothers a bit of trouble and served the purpose of sending a message to both Sherlock and Mycroft that he was still around. He was sure he wouldn’t be connected to this incident. Even if he was, he was confident in his ability to disappear. He wouldn’t be found if he didn’t want to be. The Wizarding World was a good example of that, as they had yet to find him.

 _That could be because I made my last 'death' seem very permanent, though,_ he thought drily.

Harry had known he wouldn’t live happily in the Wizarding World and he had issues with people and social norms in it that he would have to work through before he would even consider returning to that world again. As it was, he didn’t really have the motivation to work through such issues, so he generally kept his distance unless absolutely necessary. Glancing down at the gun resting in his lap, Harry remembered promising himself the day he “died” that he would never again fight for anyone else but himself. Never again would he let strangers push him to the front lines and cower behind him. Gazing at the sleek black and hard lines of the weapon, he told himself this was different. He might not fight for the world, but he would kill for his family. Because his family was all he had left.

Disassembling the stolen and magically modified sniper rifle, though the scope was unnecessary, Harry checked for any noticeable evidence that it was him who been in the area. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose and while roughly pushing them back into place he decided to get rid of them as soon as was viably possible. Not only had they become more annoying since the correction but they were far too recognisable. While that was helping him set up some meetings with people who could help him stay anonymous in future, it would make staying inconspicuous awkward. Shaking his head to physically clear his thoughts, he took another glance around to be sure he hadn’t missed anything in his moment of distraction. Then, after gathering up any leaves that had fallen during his time in the tree to make the investigation extra difficult, he disapparited without a sound.

* * *


	2. Babysitter

* * *

John was grumbling again, Sherlock noted as they walked side by side down a crowded London street, heading for home. Sherlock knew, of course, why John was grumbling. From what he could deduce, it was a mixture of Moriarty’s return and Sherlock’s own cheerful demeanour. Sherlock didn’t see what was wrong with being cheerful, but when he asked John in his usual blunt way, what was wrong with being cheerful, he was pleasantly amused by the answer. John explained that there was nothing wrong with Sherlock being cheerful but the demented grin he had been sporting since Magnussen had been killed was starting to worry a lot of people, including Mary. This explanation only made Sherlock grin wider, which in turn made John grumble more, which continued to amuse Sherlock to no end.

The pair walked passed a quaint café that had an equal amount of people sitting outside to the amount of people sitting inside, though it seemed all the patrons were enjoy some kind of hot beverage or another. As they sauntered passed, Sherlock collecting information with a glance and discarding it just as quickly, while John eyed an abandoned cup of tea longingly, the two men suddenly got the feeling that came with being watched. This wasn’t an unusual feeling for either John or Sherlock, what with Mycroft being their acquaintance and brother respectively. But while John turned to find the nearest street camera, Sherlock felt a warm tingle run up his spine. Time seemed to slow and the world blurred as Sherlock came to a stop in the middle of the path. He could vaguely hear John’s worried call, hazy and sluggish as it was, but he ignored it to focus on the feeling that was slowly filling his veins. It was a sense of excitement that he hadn’t felt in years. The kind that left his hands trembling for something to do and had his eyes searching for the next surprise. Sherlock turned slowly back towards the café, still ignoring John’s call, and examined the patrons sitting outside more carefully.

It took him a moment to pick out Harry’s pale features and shaggy raven hair in the small crowd, but it didn’t surprise Sherlock very much when he saw the glowing emerald eyes that were sparkling with mischief. Harry had perfected the art of blending in when he was very young after all. Noticing that John had stopped trying to get his attention and was now following his gaze to the lithe man’s reclined position in the corner of the café’s patio, Sherlock took a firm hold of John’s sleeve and dragged him towards the little table Harry was sitting at. He stopped in front of the table and let go of John’s sleeve to resist the childish urge to cling to it in reassurance. Sherlock wanted to introduce the two people whose company he favoured most in this world. However, he was at a loss at how to do that without admitting to both John and Harry, quite awkwardly if his emotional track record held true, that they were his two favourite people in the entire world. As a result, John and Sherlock stood awkwardly for a moment or two in front of a very amused Harry, who seemed to know what Sherlock was thinking but also seemed quite happy to let him flounder. Sherlock scowled petulantly and Harry chuckled before gesturing to the other men to sit down. The two obediently pulled out the chairs, if a little hesitantly on John’s part, and as Sherlock flopped into his, Harry got the conversation going.

“Hello Locksie,” he said with a fond smile. “You’re looking much better than when I last saw you. Then again, when I last saw you, you were being led away in hand cuffs, so it can’t really get much worse than that.”

“You’d be surprised” John muttered mutinously. Harry grinned in response as he turned to look at him.

“You must be Dr John Watson. Sherlock’s new glorified babysitter.”

John looked like he didn’t know whether to be amused or annoyed, while Sherlock just looked insulted. Harry laughed at their expressions and, choosing to rile Sherlock up just a little bit more, he continued addressing John.

“I don’t envy you, mate. You have your work cut out for you. I should know, I was his last babysitter” Harry grinned impishly. “My name’s Harry Potter, if you were wondering.”

“I was,” John replied, finally giving into his grin of amusement at Sherlock’s deepening scowl.

“You weren’t my babysitter then, Harry, and I don’t need John to be one now.”

Harry smiled in a pacifying manner, stating soothingly, “of course not, Locksie.”

Sherlock scoffed and looked away. John took his chance to speak.

“He’s never mentioned you” he stated bluntly, tilting his toward Sherlock briefly. Harry smiled sadly in response and nodded.

“I’d be surprised if he did. I’m not really supposed to be talked about. Rather an unmentionable being in the Holmes family, I am” he laughed quietly, a little morose. Sherlock kept silent.

“Though to be fair, I’ll bet he didn’t mention Mycroft either, did he?” Harry continued with a sly smile.

“No, no he didn’t” John chuckled slightly at the truth.

“After all, why would he mention the evil enemy that is his brother? You’d find out about him eventually.”

John laughed openly at this with Harry while Sherlock glared darkly at both of them. He didn’t see what was funny about his thought process and didn’t really like the two laughing at his expense. He was secretly pleased however, that the two seemed to be getting on so well. Though he wasn’t sure he’d want them to be so well acquainted if they kept joking at his expense.

“Don’t pout, Sherlock. It doesn’t become one of your IQ levels” Harry admonished sweetly. John smiled faintly at the patience in Harry’s tone that Mycroft’s seemed to lack every time he spoke to his brother.

“I’m not pouting” Sherlock snapped and then did a complete one eighty on the topic of discussion. “Nice work with that cover up for Magnussen by the way, I hear his murderer had a lot of motive.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about” Harry dodged lightly, looking at his nails. Sherlock grinned triumphantly at the action.

“Wait,” John paused, putting the pieces together, his guard rising as he did so. “You’re the one that shot Magnussen?”

Harry smiled blandly.

“Come now, John. You know as well as I do, that would be telling.”

His answer did nothing to sooth John’s growing suspicions. Sherlock, however, scoffed loudly at John’s reaction.

“Come now, John. It’s not like you haven’t done the same thing.”

John blinked, not only at the truth of Sherlock’s words, thinking back to their first case together made John acknowledge that fact that he really couldn’t judge Harry, but also at the similar speech pattern between Harry and Sherlock. Glancing between the two briefly, he wondered who picked what up from who.

Harry’s eyes took an interested gleam upon hearing this titbit of information and he also glanced between his two companions, waiting for one of them to elaborate. Sherlock smirked deviously at Harry’s interest.

“You can find the details of the case on John’s blog under the title ‘A Study In Pink’, if you’re curious” Sherlock explained smoothly. Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow with a disbelieving tilt to his lips.

“A Study in…Pink?”

Sherlock turned to send a smug look at a, once again, grumbling John. The disbelieving tilt to Harry’s lips turned amused when he realised this was a popular topic of debate for the two friends. Before the discussion was rehashed again, as Harry was sure it would be by the challenging glint in Sherlock’s eyes and the hard frown on John’s face that was rising to meet that challenge, Harry spoke softly.

“I’ll have to see this blog for myself, I think.”

This time both John and Sherlock blinked, surprised at the abrupt statement, and they both turned to look at a serenely smiling Harry. While John took this statement at face value, Sherlock’s expression fell into a calculating expression.

“If you’re going to be looking at John’s stories, I should show you my blog on the science of deduction for clarity’s sake. I’d rather do that back at the flat.”

“What?” John asked, confusion spread across his face, clearly not following Sherlock’s train of thought. Harry, on the hand, had practise and experience on his side, so he quickly caught onto not only Sherlock’s train of thought but also the real reason behind it.

“Honestly John” Sherlock huffed, exasperated, “Do you really think I want Mycroft knowing I was explaining my blog to Harry? You are free, aren’t you Harry? Good. It’s decided. Let’s go.”

Sherlock hopped up and marched off, leaving John and Harry to stand and push in the vacated chairs at a more sedated pace. John’s face was still a mask of frustrated confusion, so Harry decided to have a little mercy.

“I’m sure Mycroft teases him about his blog. By the sounds of it, he must be quite proud of it.”

John’s confusion didn’t clear. If anything, he got more frustrated at the explanation.

“Yes, but why bring us back to the flat? Not that, you aren’t welcome. You are. But if he wanted you to see the flat, why not just come out and ask?”

“This is Sherlock we’re talking about,” Harry stated dryly, a dull look on his face. John’s ears and cheeks turned a slight pink hue. Harry sighed.

“Besides the fact that it’s Sherlock, I’m not really supposed to be seen with Sherlock or even in public. I hope that will change soon, but for the moment, that’s the way it is.”

John, still a little confused, nodded at the explanation anyway. There was an awkward moment of pause. John shuffled his feet, oddly nervous in Harry’s presence before turning to catch sight of Sherlock’s disgruntled expression at their slow movement.

“John?”

John turned again, at the sound of his name, giving Harry his full attention as the pair started walking after Sherlock.

“Thank you for looking after him when I couldn’t.”

“You’re welcome” was John’s automatic response. But hearing the sincerity in Harry’s words gave John momentary pause. Turning to look at the man walking beside him and couldn’t help but verify the obvious.

“You really care for him, don’t you?”

Harry smiled softly as he told John how he’d met a young boy who was far too intelligent to make friends with his peers because they just didn’t understand. And when they caught up to Sherlock, he scoffed at Harry’s story and told John how he’d taken pity on a skinny, bespectacled boy who was far too stubborn and kind for his own good. John laughed and told Harry about how he’d met an arrogant but brilliant man who asked whether he’d fought in Afghanistan or Iraq and whether or not he wanted to see a flat in the space of five minutes. When they reached 221B Baker Street, Mrs Hudson made them tea and they continued to swap stories well into the night. The blogs were forgotten and left for another time.

* * *


	3. Avenger

* * *

Mycroft Holmes had been having a fairly normal day in the offices of the British Government up until sometime after lunch. Having just come back to his private office in the Diogenes Club, he left his trusted assistant to her duties; usually this meant she’d sit at small table outside said office and have tea, while tapping away on her phone.

Today, however, when he sat down in his leather chair behind his ornate mahogany desk he felt a shiver run up his spine. Like Sherlock, a sense of excitement that he hadn’t felt in years was slowly filling his veins. Alas, because Mycroft was the lazy fellow that he was, this feeling was tinted with a sense of apprehension and resignation. Mycroft closed his eyes to mentally prepare himself for an inevitable conversation. No sooner had he done so, than a silky amused voice spread throughout the elegant office.

“Hello, Mikey. You’re looking well. Lost weight, have you?”

Mycroft’s eyes did not fly open in surprise, much to his relief, but his posture became stiffer and when his eyes did open, still too quickly for his liking, they retained a slightly wider shape than normal upon seeing one Harry Potter lounging in one of the hunter green leather chairs in front of his desk. The man looked as if he had been there for a while, which he probably had been if Mycroft was honest. Unfortunately, that meant that Mycroft had walked straight passed him, looked straight at him even, when he entered his office and hadn’t seen him. Harry’s amused smile became a little bit sharper, as if he knew what kind of frightening thoughts were running through Mycroft’s head. With the fleeting thought that he shouldn’t and wouldn’t be surprised by that, Mycroft looked imploringly at his unexpected guest.

“Harry, Mycroft is the name mummy gave me. If you could refrain from shortening it and possibly struggle all the way to the end.”

Harry smiled sweetly; “And where would the fun in that be, Mikey dear?”

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh as Harry chuckled quietly at Mycroft’s annoyance.

“Don’t worry Mycroft, for the purposes of the following conversation, you will not be called by my beloved nickname for you.”

Mycroft’s eyes sharpened but he smiled benignly despite it.

“Have you been to see mummy?” he asked lightly. Harry’s smile was a little more forced.

“I have, actually.”

“And?”

“She seems to be doing well,” he answered vaguely and Mycroft almost smiled triumphantly at having caught Harry lying about such a visit until he continued.

“In fact, it was from her that I heard Sherlock was shot.”

Mycroft resisted an uncultured sneer.

“Is this the part where you tell me off for bad behaviour? Put me over your knee and pretend I’m a disobedient child?” he asked sardonically.

“I don’t know, Mycroft. Is it?” Harry asked with a pacifying tone and a sarcastic smile.

Mycroft huffed and metaphorically moved to defend himself.

“You should be aware that Sherlock volunteered to fake his death and spend the next two years chasing around after Moriarty’s men, the shooting incident had nothing to do with me.”

“Only because you asked him,” Harry stated face turning slated. “But that’s not really why I’m here. He had good reasons for going underground as he did and I’ve already told him off for letting good, loyal and trustworthy people like John and Lestrade think he was dead. No, I’m here because your ambition and sense of duty combined and at odds with Sherlock’s reckless nature make for a rather bad headache on my part. Case in point, it pushed Sherlock towards drugs again in the aid of a case, that you had information on. An action you could have prevented. So, yes, it does have something to do with you”.

There was only a momentary beat of silence.

“Good God, you really are here to scold me” Mycroft glared incredulous and insulted. The hard set of Harry’s facial expression did not soften.

“I’ll bet a large sum of money that John wasn’t in the room when you ‘said’ all of this to Sherlock” Mycroft stated dryly with an unimpressed air. Harry raised an equally unimpressed eyebrow.

“Of course not, but then why do you think your dear PA is sitting outside at this very moment? I can assure you she won’t be hearing a thing. This is because I’m neither cruel enough, nor stupid enough to rip into either you or Sherlock, or anyone else I care about for that matter, while anyone else is within hearing distance” Harry explained with decided bite, his patience finally wearing thin.

“Harry-“

“Don’t you dare ‘Harry’ me, Mycroft Holmes!”

“He would’ve shot Magnussen. You know that. He could’ve ruined everything!” Mycroft snapped, frustrated that Harry couldn’t see what he did.

“And I would’ve been damn proud, if he did. But laws don’t apply the same way to me as they do to him, so I took the shot instead. I took the shot because I knew, Mycroft, that you would’ve sat there and done nothing as he ruined his life for the thrice damned “greater good”. I knew you would put ‘the people’ over your own family.” Harry growled.

“Harry, the needs of many-“

“He is your brother!”

There was a pause as Harry glared at Mycroft. As Mycroft carefully removed all emotion from his face, Harry’s glare intensified.

“I trusted you to look after him.” -Mycroft scoffed very much like his brother- “I trusted you both, to look after each other while I was away and so far it is your ‘idiot’ of a younger brother that is the only one to keep that trust.”

“Harry, please-“Mycroft began, but Harry waved his hand in a single, firm dismissive gesture.

“You told me when you were young why you wanted to be in government. I’ll admit, you had many reasons, but one stood out from the rest. Remind me again, what that reason was” Harry asked calmly.

Silence greeted Harry’s request and at this point, Harry’s expression was just as blank as Mycroft’s. The only give away to how seriously Harry would take Mycroft’s answer, was how hard he was staring into Mycroft’s eyes. The silence continued until finally Harry closed his eyes in a defeated sigh. He stood up gracefully and walked towards the door and had just gripped the handle when Mycroft decided to speak.

“I worked my way into the higher ranks British government for my Queen and country with the minor goal of avoiding or manipulating those of a lesser intelligence than mine.”

In a matter of moments, as these words left Mycroft’s mouth, his office became a whirlwind of destruction. Glass shattered, wood cracked, papers were blown around the room and the door knob melted into Harry’s hand. The two men stood in the mist of the chaos, untouched but not unaffected. Harry turned back to what Sherlock dubbed as the “British Government”, his eyes glowing an eerie raging green and his raven hair was blown about in the magical wind. His jaw was clenched tight as he looked at Mycroft, who by now had a look of slight apprehension and uncertainty on his face, though he seemed to have by passed the carnage that had become his office in favour of watching the angry wizard.

“Fine,” Harry hissed, his anger drawing on the parselmagic that had stayed with him through Voldemort’s demise. “Lie to yourself all you like. But don’t you dare lie to me!”

“Harry, be reasonable“

“Why did you do it?”

“Harry-“

“Why?”

“Ha-“

“WHY?”

“TO PROTECT MY FAMILY!” Mycroft finally shouted, giving in to Harry’s demands and showing more emotion than he had in years. The magic stopped and the room stilled. The two men stood in the ruin, muted.

“It’s good to know you haven’t forgotten that, at least” Harry glared scornfully.

“Harry, please, let me explain” Mycroft implored, not quite pleading.

“No. You had your chance, Mycroft. You knew why I came here today and what I was looking for. I was angry before I came but willing to listen to what you had to say. You chose instead to avoid the topic and play a deplorable political game, for which I have no patience. Now I’m beyond the realms of anger and am in no mood to show you mercy” Harry’s voice was steely but it sounded more human than it had previously.

He waved a hand and, with his emotions still fuelling his magic, the room righted itself. Mycroft’s office looked as if the heated discussion had never taken place. The same could not be said for either Harry or Mycroft, both of whom were high strung with emotion. Harry turned on his heel and marched towards the door. This time when his hand gripped the newly repaired door knob, he did not turn to look at Mycroft, choosing instead to speak to the wooden door in an attempt to keep his temper in check.

“Mycroft, you looked out for Sherlock and his loved ones the best way you knew how and I commend you for it. However, you sacrificed your own brother’s happiness and life for government plans and other people and I’m not sure I’ll be able to forgive you for that.”

Harry stood glaring darkly at the door for another minute, then turned the handle and let himself out without another word. Only when he had shut the door with a sharp and resounding chick, did Mycroft allow himself to slump against his desk and close his eyes in shame.

* * *


	4. Inspector

* * *

When Harry Potter performed his ‘final death’ for the Wizarding World, he hadn’t really been thinking anything more complicated than, “Let’s get the hell out of Dodge!” Unfortunately, that made his later desired task of staying in England, close to Sherlock and Mycroft, all the more difficult. Luckily, saving Wizarding Britain from Voldemort also meant saving Muggle Britain from the dark wizard as well. Or rather, _Mundane_ Britain, as the Queen preferred it to be called. Presently, the Queen was someone whom Harry was more than willing to listen to, as aforementioned royalty was currently organising the multitude of opportunities Harry was receiving to stay out of sight but close to London. It helped that Her Majesty was also rather fond of the Holmes brothers. Indeed, she found his reasons and relations to the Holmes’ rather amusing, but he couldn’t really fault her for that, even he found it amusing when he took a moment to think about it.

As it was, the Queen, in collaboration with the mundane Prime Minister, was creating an entirely new division in Scotland Yard, with the added benefit of accommodating to Harry’s unusual circumstances. Harry suspected the Minister of Magic may also be partially involved, if only as a consultant. This new division would primarily be made up of squibs and muggleborns who desired and were capable of living in the mundane society. They would take the unusual cases, cold or otherwise, and with their knowledge of magic decide whether the case was magical, whether it should be brought to the attention of the Aurors, or whether they were capable of handling it themselves. The aim of the division was to have an official position in the Yard to cut down on the number of oblivations that occurred to the police force and the general public. The division would be the official liaison between the Aurors and the Yard, but would be situated in the mundane world unlike the Department of Muggle Affairs in the Ministry, who, despite well-meaning folk such as Arthur Weasley and only in Harry’s opinion, had no idea as to how to do their jobs.

‘ _Well, the new division will hopefully be the end result,_ ’ thought Harry as DI Lestrade continued his tour of Scotland Yard. ‘ _For now, it’s just me working the usual case to get experience._ ’

Harry grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that he would probably end up only partially working for the Yard, while also working for Mycroft in the near future. After all the trouble he’d gone to, to fake his final death, he wasn’t going to mess it up by becoming a liaison to the Aurors. Though he had the Queen’s protection, it would be more trouble than it was worth to be discovered. However, after his recent discussion with Mycroft, the “minor government employee”, he rather hoped the ‘near future’ was not within the next year or two. Harry found comfort in reminding himself of the fact that he’d agreed to entertain the rare favour for the Queen, should she ever ask it of him. It was an odd comfort, but comfort none the less.

“So, any questions?” Lestrade asked cheerfully, once they’d reached his office.

Truthfully, Lestrade had no idea what to make of the new Inspector, who seemed to be of a similar age to Sherlock but carried himself in a way Lestrade imagined John Watson did after he came home from his military tour. He quietly wondered how well the new recruit would get along with the retired army surgeon if the two met.

“Much field work?”

“Enough,” was Lestrade’s hesitant reply, the question having brought him back to the present.

Harry smirked, “Much paperwork?”

“Too much,” the DI sighed tiredly just thinking about it. Harry chuckled; amused by the anticipated reaction he received.

“Anyone I should look out for or avoid, maybe?” Harry asked curiously, gazing around Lestrade’s office, not really expecting anything other than a negative reply. Lestrade, slightly thrown by the question, shuffled uneasily and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of what to say.

“Well…” he trailed off hesitantly.

Harry’s eyes stopped their exploration of the office and focused on Lestrade. He turned giving his full attention to the fidgeting form of the DI, beginning to genuinely dread hearing the answer to his question. Upon seeing the look he was getting, Lestrade sighed heavily. New recruits were often territorial of any cases they received. Usually feeling the need to prove themselves capable and worthy, they sometimes went about it the wrong way, excepting little to no help and getting offended when observations were pointed out. DI Dimmock was the perfect example of that for a time. Hoping for the best, but mentally preparing for the worst, he explained.

“There’s a man who comes in every now and then, when a case is particularly difficult and he takes an interest in it” Lestrade began. “He’s a consultant of sorts, I suppose, and he’s brilliant. Truly brilliant, but he’s-“

“He’s a freak,” another voice cut in.

Lestrade would have closed his eyes in frustration and disappointment at the sound of Sgt Donavan’s voice, had he not seen the twitch in the young man’s eyebrow, miniscule though it was. He felt some worry when a cold but polite smile was plastered onto the pale face, which did nothing to hide the sharpened glint his eyes took. Lestrade felt momentarily concerned for his Sergeant as the other man turned to the mocha skinned woman. Seeing the sardonic, bittersweet smile on her face, a stray thought whispered that she might deserve whatever happened next. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to clean up the mess. He was surprised when the voice he’d been expecting had a smooth and seductive, if slightly chilling, quality to it.

“Inspector Harry Black, at your service,” Harry intoned with a short nod. Donavan’s smile turned a little more sweet than bitter.

“Sergeant Sally Donavan, at yours.”

“Charmed,” the polite smile turned slightly more charismatic and Lestrade felt like he was watching a particularly cruel cat play lazily with a mouse. “Forgive me Sgt Donavan, but I don’t quite understand the meaning to your initial statement. Could you elaborate, please?”

Donavan was only too happy to do so and seemed oblivious to the warning signs that Lestrade was seeing.

“The man Inspector Lestrade is telling you about is intelligent, no question, but he’s a nut. He gets his kicks from seeing dead bodies. He’s an arrogant ass too, that guesses your life story from the clothes you’re wearing. In essence, he’s a creep.”

Harry frowned, but Lestrade felt it was more for performance than anything else; “So he’s likes the challenge of solving someone’s murder and likes to point out observations he notices about others?”

“That’s what he says, but it’s only a matter of time before solving crimes isn’t enough for him,” Donavan scoffed. Harry hummed, unimpressed.

“Does he show his emotions?” he asked, subdued.

Donavan scoffed again, “He doesn’t have any”.

“Does he adhere to social norms? Like know what is appropriate to say and when?”

“Not at all. He just blurts it out, regardless of who is listening,” she scowled, not liking this line of questioning but not knowing entirely why. Lestrade stayed silent.

“Then, in the opinions of most psychiatrists and the more observative and patient, the man is what some would call, mentally handicapped. In my opinion, however, he is an observational genius whose increased IQ has left him unable to connect with other people as they have trouble keeping up with his mental capabilities. As such, because he couldn’t connect, he couldn’t develop on an emotional level. This leaves him with the emotional understanding of say, a five year old,” Harry stated drily, his face now slated. Donavan’s scowl deepened but Lestrade was suppressing a smile, because it did kind of sound like Sherlock, both in description and tone. Harry continued;

“Considering he helps solve crimes, I highly doubt he’ll turn into a serial killer, purely because, if for nothing else, he wouldn’t find the challenge in it if he dislikes the way the Yard solve cases. Though, I now have a better idea as to why you seem to hate him so much, particularly if it has anything to with a supply closest, which I suspect it does.”

Donavan’s mouth dropped open in stunned offense, while Lestrade frowned at the implied lack of profession though he wasn’t entirely sure from whom. He didn’t like Harry throwing accusations around like Sherlock, with observations rather than evidence the majority could follow. However, if there was evidence, something would eventually have to be done about Donavan and her work ethic. A fine sergeant she may be, but there was a time and place for everything, including social niceties.

“You’re just like him, aren’t you?” she accused scathingly, “You’re a freak, who gets his kicks from airing everyone’s dirty laundry in their-“

“Actually, Sgt Donavan, I am not,” Harry interrupted, with ice in his eyes and hard steel in his tongue, he stilled the other occupants in the room. “While my observational skills are above average, I am nowhere near a level where I can tell what you had for dinner last night by the clothes you are wearing today. I do, however, have a perfectly working set of ears, which had the misfortune to pick up your malodorous tones through the door of a supply closest.”

Donavan had the grace to lower her eyes in mortified shame as her cheeks heated. Lestrade however, had to cover his eyes with his hand and grip the desk he was leaning against with the other. Hearing the deed through a door was a little different to seeing fibres of the carpet on Donavan’s knees. Harry didn’t stop there though.

“I will admit to having been called a freak by my maternal guardians for seventeen years of my life at least” the other occupants in the room looked up in shock. “I would bet a large sum of money that if they ever do mention my existence in passing, they still call me a freak. However, they still have the good grace and _sense_ not to say as such within my presence and the presence of others who run in my circles. I would hope that if animals like them can have the tact to do so, then a _sergeant_ of Scotland Yard, one the most well-known police forces in the world, would have the tact to do so as well.”

There was a beat of silence before Donavan opened her mouth. To argue, to apologise or to question, Harry didn’t know and he didn’t really care. He waved a dismissive hand, silencing her before she could speak.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he said flatly. “I don’t care what you do in your spare time but don’t do it here. I also don’t care what you think of me, of our supposed consultant or anyone else for that matter. So long as you keep your opinions to yourself. Do those two things and we will have no issues with working together in future, got it?”

She nodded mutely, still gazing down at the floor.

“Good.”

Seeming to take that as a dismissal, the sergeant walked into the room, placed a slim case folder on the desk behind Lestrade and walked out without so much as a nod. Lestrade watched her with a raised eyebrow, and then sent a small quirk of the lips towards Harry who was gazing stoically at the empty doorway.

“Wow,” he said, drawing Harry’s attention from the door. “If I could get that reaction every time I have to reprimand my sergeants that would be half my work done. I’m impressed.”

Harry seemed to sag as he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“I would say sorry, but I’m not feeling particularly apologetic at the moment. I might later though.”

“Well you’re honest, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry about it,” Lestrade waved a hand. “I was being serious. Just don’t alienate yourself from these people. We are your co-workers after all. And if you don’t have patience with them, you’ll have no chance with our resident consultant.”

Harry smiled, “Considering how much experience I have with the company of Sherlock Holmes, I think I’ll be fine on that front.”

Lestrade couldn’t really say he was surprised but he felt the need to ask; “You know Sherlock?”

Harry smiled with a bit more warmth.

“Indeed I do. Quite well actually and I have no problem with him helping me out whenever he feels the motivation to.”

Lestrade snorted; “Well, you’ll be one of the first, though that does explain your reaction to Donavan a bit better.”

Both detectives frowned at the recent interaction, though it was for different reasons.

“You weren’t lying about your relatives though, were you?” Lestrade clarified after a momentary pause. Harry’s posture straightened and his expression distant.

“No.”

“You called them animals.”

Once again, Harry sagged out a sigh and sat in a chair in front of Lestrade, who was still leaning against the front of his desk. He reclined in his chair so he could look at the elder inspector comfortably as he spoke.

“Look, I’m not saying I want to talk about it because I don’t. I’m also not saying I’m over it, because that would probably be lying and I’m not really a fan of self-denial. However, I will say this. It has taken me a long time to accept this, and sometimes I still have my doubts but I’m…” -he paused indecisively- “grateful, I’m a freak in my relatives’ eyes. People like my relatives, people like Donavan, they’re not good people. They’re not healthy. They are bitter and twisted and ugly on the inside and hold a lot of hatred. And if being normal means being like them then I’m glad I’m a freak. I’m better this way.”

They sat in silence a while as they digested what was said. For Lestrade, it was an insightful look into how Harry’s perception of the world worked and while he wasn’t sure whether or not it was healthy or even if he agreed with it, he couldn’t really argue with the other inspector’s reasons. For Harry, it was the first time he had admitted those thoughts out loud, never mind to another person and the admission seemed to add to the acceptance in and of his thoughts.

“You still called them animals though,” Lestrade stated with a pointed look. Harry could only roll his eyes in response.

“The general consensus of anyone who’s been asked to describe my relatives is that my uncle is a walrus, my aunt is a giraffe and my cousin is a baby whale. I’m pretty sure even the neighbours would agree with that if you asked them directly.”

Lestrade raised a sceptical eyebrow but decided to let the matter drop for the moment. Shifting his weight to his feet, he rounded his desk to sit in the chair behind it. He opened one of his drawers and after a moment of shuffling pulled out an ID badge that he slid across the table to Harry.

“Well, there’s your badge. I suggest you carry it with you everywhere, regardless of whether you’re on duty or not,” Lestrade began explaining while opening the case file on his desk. “For the first couple of cases, you’ll be working exclusively with me and after that, depending on your performance, you’ll be working on your own cases. I think the higher ups have a few cold cases they want you to look at, something about a test run for the new department, but you don’t need to worry about that yet.”

Lestrade frowned for a moment at a thought, but continued on with a shake of his head.

“As senior officer, you answer to me, and only me, on any cases we’re working on together. I was told something about unique circumstances and that other than me you really only have to answer to one or two other people. It didn’t really make a lot of sense to me, but I presume that was the idea behind the explanation. Still, as a personal favour, I ask you to at least be civil to the Chief Superintendent whenever he comes knocking.”

Harry chuckled at the Inspector’s slightly pleading look and nodded.

“If he’s civil, I’ll be civil,” Harry promised.

“Great,” Lestrade whooshed a sigh of relief, and began to skim the open case file in front of him. “That’s really it for the moment. According to this there’s a body in the morgue though, which is somewhere else we spend time. I’ll take you to see it now, if you like, and you can help with the case? I know you’re not starting until next week but-”

“I’ve got nothing else planned until this weekend,” Harry interrupted with a smile.

“Well, let’s get going then,” Lestrade chirped with a responding smile, gathering his necessities and leading the way out to his car.

Harry followed him, feeling the weight of his badge in his hand. Legally, Harry had the right to call himself a Black, through his inheritance from Sirius which included the Lordship. On paper, he had the double barrel name, Potter-Black, which he found tediously long but an odd comfort. In general, he would be known as Detective Inspector Black or just Harry Black while off duty. It was just another way to keep his death permanent. There were plenty of Potter’s in England, plenty of Black’s too, but while the name Potter would make a wizard turn and look, the name Black wouldn’t. If anything, it would make said wizard run in the other direction. Added with the fact that he no longer wore his glasses out of the house and that his scar was faded and hidden he no longer looked like the iconic Harry Potter.

Well, it would take some people a moment to realise it at least.

* * *


	5. Survivor

* * *

The ride to the morgue past swiftly, filled with bouts of silence but mostly small talk and comments on the current radio station that was quietly making background noise. It was calm and relaxing for Harry, who had become quite uncomfortable in cities and was only slightly better in suburbs. A remnant of his fame, of war or his own paranoia, Harry didn’t know and didn’t particularly care to put a name on it. All he knew was that the crowded areas made it that much harder to see the wandering wizard before they recognised him.

Still, the two detectives arrived at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital with no trouble and in quick time, despite the London traffic. Standing next to Lestrade in the lift, Harry couldn’t help but ask;

“Will there be anyone there to meet us? I didn’t see you call anyone and it is almost lunch.”

Lestrade gave Harry a smile with his reply; “I tend to work with a doctor called Molly Hooper. She’s not a workaholic, per say, but she is almost always around when you need her. And if she isn’t, she’s usually on call.”

“Oh no, not a workaholic at all,” Harry retorted dryly. Ignoring the amused grin he got for his sarcasm, Harry continued; “Still doesn’t quite explain why she would be here on her lunch break. Unless she really is a workaholic?”

Grinning a little wider at the faux wonder in the new detective’s voice, Lestrade explained; “The report of a body in the morgue wouldn’t have come in unless it was signed in by a doctor. The name on the report is the aforementioned Dr. Molly Hooper, who tends to start autopsy immediately after the signing in of the body, regardless of the time. With the time it took for the initial report to get to us and for us to traipse across London, she should be ready to tell us something at least.”

Harry stared blankly at him for a moment before asking incredulously;

“You couldn’t have just said that in the first place?”

“Well, I could’ve but you’re supposed to be a detective.”

“And you’re supposed to be a professional. You’re spending far too much time with Sherlock, you are.”

“Oi!” Lestrade exclaimed in mock outrage, “I resent that remark.”

“I’m sure you do,” Harry soothed with a patronising smile, which quickly turned impish. “I’m sure Sherlock would too. Never mind the fact that you both resemble the remark as well.”

Lestrade spluttered in indignation.

In the time it had taken for the two gentleman to have this conversation, they had exited the lift, walked the length of the white corridor and had stopped in front of a set of grey doors leading to what Harry assumed was the autopsy room. The journey from the moment they had stepped onto the lift had been incredibly quiet, with no sound other than that of their own voices and the world outside of the hospital. There were no signs of life in any of the rooms they passed along the corridor and had Harry been anyone else, he probably would’ve found it a bit creepy considering where they were. As it was, he was trying to ignore the paranoia that whispered his own personal boggart, whoever or whatever it might be today, was going to jump out him from one of the seemingly unoccupied labs, by immersing himself in the conversation. As engrossed in their conversation as they were, they were suitably surprised into jumping when a hesitant voice called from the doors.

“Um, Greg?”

“Ah, Molly,” Lestrade cleared his throat, shaking himself of his own surprise; he gestured to the man standing beside him, whom had already forcibly relaxed upon seeing the source of his surprise.

“Molly Hooper, this is our new Detective Inspector Harry Black. Harry Black, meet Doctor Molly Hooper.”

Simultaneously reaching to shake hands, they gave each other awkward but welcoming smiles to accompany the usual niceties.

“Hi, call me Harry.”

“Molly. It’s nice to meet you.”

Not giving them a moment to truly succumb to their awkward personalities, not to say that Harry was awkward in his experience but more that he didn’t do small talk, Lestrade got straight to the point; “So, the body that was found in a side alley off Newport Place, can you tell us anything?”

Gladly taking his cue to get down to business, Molly lead the two detectives into the room and over to the metal slab which had the corpse of an average looking man lying on it. While Molly grabbed the clipboard with her current notes on the body, the two men took the time to observe the body. It was naked, of course, with only a white sheet spread over his lower body to preserve his modesty. It also had yet to be thoroughly cleaned as there were still bits of dirt and grime on his hands and down the side of his face. With brown hair cut and styled neatly, a straight nose and lips that looked as though they never knew what it was to frown, the man could’ve been considered charming if he had a personality to match his looks. Unfortunately his lifelessness accentuated his common physic and for some reason that gave Harry a slightly disheartened feeling. He promptly shook it off as Molly began to speak.

“As you can see, I’ve only just finished prepping for invasive autopsy. The doctor on site reported there to be defensive wounds, which I can concur, and he also speculated that the victim may have been poisoned through the stab wound on his shoulder,” she explained, indicating to the circular wound just below the collar bone and beside the shoulder joint that had been carefully cleaned of dry blood.

“The weapon wasn’t a knife, but a relatively sharp cone-like shape and though I have to confirm it, I’m inclined to agree he was poisoned. Disregarding any hereditary traits like a heart problem, he seems to have been a relatively healthy male in his mid to late twenties. Both the Doctor on site and I believe the wound to be cause of death but I’m going to run tests to be sure.”

Lestrade sighed as he nodded.

“Right. He was listed as a John Doe in the report with nothing on him at all save a few seemingly gold coins. Did you find any identifying marks?”

“He has no tattoos or piercings and my prep showed no unusual birthmarks or anything” she shuffled anxiously for a moment before continuing. “I did find an arm guard on him while I was cleaning off the excess blood. I’m only mentioning it because it wasn’t mentioned in the clothing listed and I found it odd considering even I didn’t notice it until I was working right next to it. That and it seems to be made out of some kind of hide, but I don’t recognise what.”

Lestrade looked up confused; “Leather?”

Molly shook her head.

“I thought that originally but closer inspection made me think of really thick snake skin. I sent it on with the other clothes to get it tested.”

Lestrade nodded with a completive frown glancing at Harry who seemed to be nonchalantly switching his gaze between Molly and the dead man, his eyes taking in every detail of both. Had Lestrade not worked closely with Sherlock, he may have been tempted to talk to the new Inspector later about listening with more than half an ear. Deciding to quiz him subtly on it later, Lestrade turned back to the good doctor with a question on the initial report.

“The earlier report said the time of death was undetermined. The doctor on site didn’t even give an estimation. Can you give us an idea of when he died?”

This time Molly’s hesitant shuffle was accompanied by a nervous roaming of her eyes.

“The doctor talked to me when the body came in. He told me his suspicions for both the time and cause of death because he wanted me to be sure of both before I released the information. He didn’t want to cause a panic. He wanted me to double check and triple check his results. I’m only telling you because you asked; I haven’t managed to begin the autopsy, as I’ve said, and triple check the results. He estimated the time of death as being around thirty minutes to an hour before the body was found. He didn’t mention it to the Inspector on duty because he estimates that the poison shut down all the victim’s internal organs within two to five minutes.”

Lestrade looked at Molly in wide eyed, horrified wonder going a bit pale as the information sank in, but it was Harry’s reaction that startled the Doctor. Upon hearing the information, his attention had snapped to her with a sharp turn of his head. Green, green eyes narrowed as he gazed at her in momentary distrust before staring through her, seeming to roll the information around in his mind and slowly, curiously turning his head back towards the body; more specifically, the circular wound on the shoulder of the dead man. Turning questioningly to Lestrade, she found him still a little pale but gazing curiously at his current partner. Seeing he had no answers, Molly shook herself and continued her explanation.

“The doctor on site thought it best to keep both pieces of information as quiet as possible at the time. He feared that a manhunt would start then and there and that some of the officers would die because they were poisoned by a weapon that no one has knowledge of, never mind the antidote for. I happen to agree with him” she finished, defending her colleague for his actions though there seemed to be no need as both detectives were nodding along appreciatively with her explanation.

Seeing that she was finished, Harry decided to speak up.

“Do you mind if I have a closer look at that shoulder?”

Looking a little perplexed, Molly nodded and watched curiously along with Lestrade as Harry put on a pair of vinyl gloves and started to thoroughly examine the wound, poking and prodding and getting closer to look at it. Then he stood straight and took off the gloves before unbuttoning one of the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the sleeve up past his elbow. The movement was so brisk and fluid that Molly just had to ask.

“Are you related to Sherlock Holmes?”

All movement stopped as the two men in the room turned to blink, somewhat stupidly, at the woman, completely blindsided by the question. Molly blushed and rushed to explain;

“It’s just you move like him. Like Sherlock, I mean, when you were rolling up your sleeve, I thought you looked exactly like Sherlock when you did it.”

Lestrade swallowed a snort and coughed into his hand to hide an incriminating smile. Harry ignored him in favour of looking at the blushing red head with a bemused sort of smile, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to make of her but accepted it at face value.

“What a connection to make from a movement,” he mused and then turned his attention to the crease of his elbow.

He didn’t answer her question and she wasn’t sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Then she and Lestrade watched bewildered as he brought his arm closer to the corpse’s shoulder and compared the two. Looking up and ignoring the looks on their faces, Harry motioned them closer and looked at Molly as she stepped up beside him.

“In your professional opinion, is what wounded this man the same or a similar instrument to what gave me this scar on my arm?” he asked holding out his arm to her. Surprise was smothered by duty and something else as Molly took the offered arm and tried to ignore the flush at the feeling of his warm skin under her clammy hands while she examined the faded silvery scar. Nodding she looked up at the two men and gave her assessment;

“Aside from the size which could be different due to depth and angle anyway, I’d say it was the same weapon.”

Upon seeing Lestrade’s face slacken in shock at the information, they turned to look at the dark haired man who wore a grimly satisfied expression on his face. Gently removing his arm from Molly’s hold and politely ignoring her blush as he readjusted his sleeve, he let slip the comment;

“I thought as much.”

Lestrade looked at him shrewdly, “You know what happened?”

“I have no idea what happened, I wasn’t there after all” he replied sardonically, his lips giving a cheeky twitch. “What I can tell you is what caused the wound, and yes, the poisoning.”

“Well, what was it?” Lestrade demanded.

“The weapon was a very large tooth of a monstrous species of snake” Harry began, not at all bothered by the aggressive tone. “I’m talking dinosaur monstrous. Dinosaur era too, this creature is probably the ancestor of all venomous snakes. There’s even less skeletons of this thing than there are of the rarest dinosaur you can think of. All of which means these teeth are extremely rare. Which is a good thing, you’ll be glad to hear, because even in death the teeth are still venomous and, as you can see, highly dangerous.”

Lestrade was stunned; “That’s crazy.”

“Crazy it may be, but it’s true none the less” Harry said calmly.

“So” Molly began hesitantly, “how did you end up being poisoned by it?”

“Better yet, how did you survive?” Lestrade asked.

“I was, incredibly, both very unlucky and very lucky” he stated flatly, he didn’t want to lie to his new colleagues but this was a topic of discussion that he had never wanted to speak about in his previous ‘life’ never mind now. 

“I won’t go into details, because it’s not a nice story and I don’t really want to talk about it. The short version is that a guerrilla warfare terrorist found my very existence insulting to the extreme and tried to have me killed. This was the method used and after a momentary feeling of liquid fire in my veins, everything started to slow and stop, exactly as you guessed, Doctor.”

“Molly” she reminded him faintly, horrified by what she was hearing she didn’t even realise she had corrected him.

“Molly” he agreed all the same, and continued before they could ask the obvious. “I’m not entirely sure what I was given. I never asked. But I know it was an experimental solution and there was a fifty-fifty chance as to whether or not it would work and that it was a very close call. In fact there are several people, myself grudgingly included, that think had it been anyone else in that position, they probably wouldn’t have survived.”

“What do you mean by that?” Lestrade asked suspiciously. 

Harry shrugged.

“I’m known for having the horrible luck of getting into seriously bad situations but the polar opposite good luck in getting out of them.”

“What kind of situations?” Molly asked curious despite the fact that she might not want to know if some of the situations he’d been in were on par with being marked by a terrorist.

“Now, that would just be telling!” he exclaimed with a sly grin, “you’d know all my secrets and I’d become boring and that would just be no fun!”

“I highly doubt you could in anyway be boring” Lestrade stated with a grudging smile before frown seriously, “but I would like to know if this ‘bad luck’ is going to be a problem.”

Harry tried not to be offend by the lack of faith and disbelief that were belied in the physical quotation marks Lestrade used, after all the man had only just met him recently.

“I’d like to think I’ve developed a sense for when my luck is about to turn that bad and it seems to work around eighty percent of the time.”

“Only eighty percent?” was the dry sceptical question.

“I’m a realist.”

“Right.”

Lestrade’s gaze on Harry looked incredibly worried and while Harry returned his stare somewhat coolly he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what exactly the other man was worried about. Whether it was his physical or mental health he was worried about or whether it was about how suitable he was for the job. Molly intervened before he could decide to question it.

“What was this experimental solution you were given?”

“Like I said, I never asked, but I was lead to believe it was experimental in the sense that it was a cure-all solution. It had never been used on poison of this calibre before. Again, like I said, I was extremely lucky it worked,” Harry realised the relatively large hole he had dug himself by even mentioning the words “cure-all” in front of a Doctor, but if the conversation continued like he thought it would, he hoped to be able to shock the other two in to leaving him alone in terms of this line of questioning.

“How could you not ask?” Lestrade asked in disbelief.

“Easily. I’d just being stabbed and poisoned by someone who wanted to kill me, then had all my organs working overtime to help whatever I was given to clear out the poison. I was sore, tired and emotionally drained and more than willing to let those supposedly more responsible than me at the time deal with everything else.”

Hearing what he didn’t say, Lestrade asked shrewdly; “What do you mean at the time? When was this?” 

“I was twelve when it happened,” Harry replied, not missing a beat. While it would no doubt lead to a less appealing line of questioning, it would be easier to say he wouldn’t talk for this subject, rather than say he couldn’t talk, or outright lie, on the cure-all subject.

The silence following his statement stilled everything. Even the noise of the outside world seemed to dim in shock at his words. An age seemed to pass before Lestrade was able to gather himself enough to think clearly, never mind speak.

“A terrorist decided a kid’s existence was an insult?”

“Well I never said he was either sane or rational” Harry shrugged.

Lestrade didn’t comment, despite desperately wanting to ask questions and demand answers. He suspected that Molly was of a similar mind and was also biting her tongue to hold her questions but it just wasn’t their place. They had both just met the man recently after all, Molly a mere few minutes ago. Harry sighed and decided not to let the silence linger.

“I’m sure, at some point in the not too distant future, I will tell you all about it. But right now, we are standing around the body of a man who was murdered in cold blood. I don’t know about you two but I’d like to find some justice for the poor sod” he rambled and as one, the three people looked at the body they were surrounding. Lestrade seemed to shake himself and nodded decisively.

“Let’s get to work.”

* * *

Now, quite obviously when a non-magical person is working on a magical case, it’s never going to be quite as simple as that. Harry, while the only magical person in the force to speak of, wasn’t actually on the case. He didn’t even officially start working at the Yard until the following Monday. This meant that the case would more than likely be transferred to the Aurors as soon as they got wind of it, which did not take very long at all. As it was, Harry spoke to a few people anonymously about both transferring the case and some head hunting about who the victim was to get the ball rolling. By Friday evening, he was sitting with Lestrade in the other man’s office helping to write up a final report on all that was done on their part. It wasn’t as tedious as it could’ve been as there was only that one report to finish off and Lestrade got along well with Harry, making an effort not to let the shocks the other man tended to unknowingly spring bother him too much. In return, Harry tried not to do or say too many shocking things at one time or in tandem. A difficult task when his definition of ‘shocking’ was, in the politest of terms, skewed to say the least.

By five o’ clock, they had finished the write up and had lodged it to the right person. Feeling somewhat hard done by at the case transfer but grateful for all the help Harry had given, Lestrade asked his new partner to join him with the other officers for a celebratory drink at the pub. Highly tempted by the liquid courage that his felt he may need for what he had planned for that evening, Harry eventually declined and asked for a rain check the following Friday after his first official week. It wouldn’t do to show up at his destination with even the hint of alcohol on him. His potential company would not appreciate it. A bit of ribbing from Lestrade and a few of the other officers he’d got to know while he was in the building on the case and a solid promise to go out the following week and, eventually, he was let go on his way. Walking to the nearest apparition point, he turned on his heel and landed just outside a gated pathway to a homey cottage with a crack.

He reached for the latch on the gate and froze as he touched it. He honestly didn’t know what to expect if he walked up to that front door and it was answered by one of the two people inside. There might not even be anyone home. After all, he hadn’t told anyone he was coming. Or, even worse, only one half of the couple could be home and he’d only get one half of the reaction to his visit. He blanched as he thought about all the horrible things that could happen. But Mycroft’s half mocking, half legitimate question as to whether he had visited or not had haunted his mind since he left that office. His hand began to tremble and he brought it back to his side and clenched it in a white knuckle fist. This was why he hadn’t told anyone he was coming, so he could chicken out and leave if he wanted to. The sound of the door opening and a man stepping out quickly put pay to that plan. Harry may as well have been a deer in headlights as an elderly gentleman with neatly styled white hair, deep brown eyes and a somewhat vacant smile sauntered down to meet him.

“Hello there, young man! What can I do for you?” he asked cheerily, his expression never changing.

Harry drank the man in, from the reading glasses hanging around his neck to the worn grey slacks draped over his slippers, before clearing his throat and croaking out a greeting in return before his mind went blank as to what to say next.

“Good evening, Mr. Holmes.”

The newly labelled Mr. Holmes widened his eyes and unlatched the gate with a hopeful; “Harry?”

Reaching up, only slightly, to grasp Harry’s face gently in his hands, the elder man turned it this way and that, examining it from all angles before turning it to look him straight in the eye;

“When did the event happen?” he asked suspiciously.

Harry flinched minutely, swallowed and answered.

“In the second week of August of my ninth year.”

Where before the smile was vacant, Mr. Holmes smile was now joyously sincere as he pulled the young man into a rib cracking hug. Harry didn’t mind however. In fact, he hugged back with equal measure, sinking into the comforting warmth of the man in front of him. When they pulled away they would be unable to deny the sheen that glazed their eyes. Mr. Holmes coughed as he stepped back but left his hands on top of Harry’s shoulders as he took in his entire form. He sighed happily as he looked back at Harry’s face.

“Come on in. The better half was just making tea when we heard the crack. Thought it was those pesky magicals again,” he scowled at the air to Harry’s left before smiling at him again. “Come in, come in, she’ll be wanting a word with you.”

Harry ignored the warning as warmth once again filled him when he followed the elder gentleman into the cosy cottage. He’d spend the entire weekend there and walk into Scotland Yard on Monday relaxed, happy and at peace.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 19/04/20 Update: I have gotten a couple of questions about it so I just wanted to explain Harry's answer to Mr.Holmes;   
> When you celebrate your first birthday, you are celebrating that you have lived one year of life. Harry's answer means that he just turned eight and was in his ninth year of life. Their security Q&A is not only about what you say but how you say it.


	6. Sorceror

* * *

Time passed like it always does, quickly and without consideration for busy beings, and Harry found his life falling into something similar to a routine. Both he and Mycroft avoided each other similarly to how one avoids a plague and were civil to the point of backache in their stiffness when a meeting could not be avoided. Molly contrasted greatly to Mycroft in that she was always friendly, helpful and welcoming, to the point that Harry was starting to become a little suspicious and wary of her motives. She also tended to give him these little considering looks when his focus was elsewhere, which Greg found absolutely hilarious when he asked about it. Despite his mentor’s amusement, he found Greg Lestrade gradually became a close friend and confidante, as well as a reliable co-worker. John Watson was also becoming something of a good friend in their many meetings in conjunction with entertaining/babysitting Sherlock, having Sherlock and war zone experiences in common. Though Harry often found this friendship slightly straining as he often felt a little guilty and annoyed at how little he could tell John about his experiences. John seemed to understand Harry’s inability to speak about it, generally assuming that Harry was ex-secret service or something similar. While he wasn’t entirely wrong, Harry was still frustrated by his necessary silence on the subject, being unaccustomed to keeping secrets that he truly wanted to share with someone. It had frustrated him to the point that he decided to do something about it.

Harry sighed tiredly as he stopped in front of the door to 221B Baker Street. Glancing down at the papers that had yet to leave his white knuckled grip since he had picked them up, Harry felt a little bit lighter. Briefly re-reading the clear script again, he felt less surprised by the decision he had made to inform his small group of friends and family about his previous life and more by how long it had taken him to make it. Admiring the Queen’s signature, he smiled bemusedly at the thought that he had the means to make this happen long ago if he really wanted to. All he needed was their word in the form of their signature that they would keep the information to themselves and he was free to tell them as much or as little about his life as he wanted to. Not because he had to, which was a surprisingly constricting feeling that he had never had to deal with before.

Folding the papers up and gazing up at the building in front of him, Harry contemplated the gathering that was about to occur in it. It seemed to be a variety of celebrations, Mrs. Hudson’s early birthday, Harry’s tenth successful closed cold case, the latest murder solved by Sherlock, John and Lestrade with help from Harry and Mycroft, John and Mary’s little one’s first tooth, his birthday may have been mentioned somewhere in there too, but he couldn’t be sure, all of it being rolled into one gathering at 221B. Harry, Mycroft and Sherlock were varying degrees of unimpressed at the announcement of the small party, uncomfortable with people as they were but they weren’t really been given much of a say. Though Harry had to admit it gave him an extra reason to show them the papers tonight while they were together, rather than some other time individually, even if that would have been his preferred way to do it.

Nodding absently to himself, Harry pocketed the papers, opened the door with a spare key Sherlock had given him and trotted inside to greet Mrs. Hudson and help her with any remaining preparation there was left to do. Having come early to brace himself for the next few hours, however they may go, Harry felt it would be only right to help the elder woman out. It would keep him distracted and he would be doing something menially productive. After all, as she kept reminding everyone, she was the Landlady, not the housekeeper and this gathering was just as much for her as it was for anyone else who was coming…. He thought so anyway.

While Harry had greeted Mrs. Hudson briefly upon that first evening of catching up with Sherlock and John, there were many more memorable exchanges and meetings with the cheerful landlady that had happened since. One such meeting, which involved Mrs. Hudson’s missing glasses, the baker next door, a banana and a frying pan, was particularly easy to recall. Harry would often rather forget various details about that particular day, as regardless of age, background and acquaintances it had been …..an experience for all involved. He could never regret its occurrence though, as he had not only helped the woman Sherlock seemed to value as much as his own mother, but he had also gotten to know her a bit better. This lead to Mrs. Hudson treating Harry as a more responsible mix of Sherlock and John which Harry saw as an added bonus. As such, the two worked together and around each other companionably right up until the rest of the guests began to arrive.

It turned out to be a pleasant evening, with Sherlock playing Happy Birthday for Mrs. Hudson and a myriad of other songs requested by the woman and one or two others, Molly gushing over the teething baby Watson and Lestrade, John and Mary having a quiet drink discussing everything but work. Even Harry and Mycroft were being pleasant to one another. Though that may have had more to do with the tentative truce that was discussed over text as the party date grew closer and enforced upon eye contact with each other entering the same room. Even Sherlock seemed relieved when they greeted each other warmly. That’s not to say the truce was going to last and everything was fixed between them. No, the two men were just very good at playing pretend.

The evening was going so well in fact, Harry began waiting expectantly for something to happen. He was rewarded when Mycroft straightened minutely from the relaxed posture he had taken standing beside Harry, the two of them nursing a glass of their respective poisons in silence. Looking at Harry, he unknowingly drew the attention of the entire room when he announced; 

“Oh yes, it seems as though I have been delegated messenger for you Harry.”

The look on Mycroft’s face told everyone exactly what he thought of being ‘delegated messenger’ and Harry hummed in amusement before deciding to answer verbally when Mycroft glared at him.

“Oh, right? Who’s sending me messages?”

“Mummy. She sends her love and would like you over for tea next Tuesday as neither of them can make it tonight. I, of course, assured her you were free at that time,” Mycroft demurred.

Harry didn’t believe it for a second.

“Of course you did,” he stated flatly. Mycroft smiled a bland, genial smile.

“Um, Harry?” John began in confusion. “How well do you know Mrs. Holmes? She seems to ask after you a lot for a friend of her sons'.”

Three pairs of eyes blinked blankly at John, before glancing around the room to see varying degrees of confusion but a consistent amount of interest in Harry’s answer. Harry looked at Mycroft in bewilderment.

“I assumed they knew,” he stated, though it seemed more like a question.

“I assumed you told them,” Mycroft seemed just as incredulous. They turned in unison to look at Sherlock who was staring at the people around the room in fascination. Sensing their gaze, he turned to them, his expression unchanged.

“I assumed they would figure it out.”

In an identical movement of exasperation, Harry and Mycroft rolled their eyes skywards and pinched the bridge of their nose in a frustrated plea for patience. Harry’s plea was answered first it seemed, when he lifted his head and said with a sigh.

“So, let me get this straight,” he began. “Months of friendship, daily dealings with each other and a healthy, if somewhat grudging on some people’s parts, respect between all of us here, and they have no clue about our actual relationship?”

He ignored the alarmed and uncomfortable looks spreading over the other guests faces. He did not want to acknowledge where their minds had gone upon his last question.

“Obviously,” Mycroft drawled, looking unconcerned now that his incredulousness had passed.

“So,” Lestrade ventured as he shifted uncomfortably again, “so, you three are together, then?”

Mycroft and Sherlock looked at the fidgeting man in unmuted horror and disgust before glancing at each other and cringing or shivering in revulsion respectively. Harry, meanwhile, was determinedly gazing up at the ceiling, not acknowledging anything going on around him. Lestrade felt the sudden and urgent need to backtrack.

“Well, i-it _is a_ personal preference, a-and-“

“He’s our brother!” Mycroft and Sherlock barked simultaneously.

That proclamation was followed by a bout of stunned silence.

“Oh,” Lestrade blinked. “Well, that’s…nice.”

This proclamation was promptly followed by another silence, of the more awkward variety. 

“I knew it,” Molly stated with the utmost conviction, bringing the surprised gazes of the entire room to her form. She shifted under the attention, then defended her statement accordingly. 

“Well, I did.”

Harry sighed and pulled the papers he’d been given from his pocket.

“Well, I guess now is as good a time as any I was waiting for.”

Handing them around to all but his newly revealed siblings he explained; “There are some things about my past and my relationship to the Holmes family that is highly confidential and that I have been unable to tell you all about, as some of you may have noticed. By signing these papers, you are not only receiving the allowance to learn of this information but also agreeing to keep it a secret.”

“Is this the Queen’s signature?” John asked perplexed in a similar way to when Sherlock skipped a few steps in an explanation and expected John to keep up before calling him something just short of an idiot.

“Yes. Yes, it is. She is the one who organised these papers at my request. Normally you’d have to go through different channels, but her signature lets us skip that” Harry clarified nonchalantly.

“So your past is a National Secret?” Lestrade asked bewildered.

“Well, eh, no, not really. But the reason I’ve met and am on good terms with the Queen is yes,” Harry stumbled over his reply while Sherlock and Mycroft smirked at him. “And it’s less of a National Secret and more of a Worldwide Secret.”

Lestrade did not look comforted.

“You know the Queen? As in, ‘have a chat over tea and cucumber sandwiches’ know the Queen?” Mary questioned dubiously, looking over the papers with John before glancing up at Harry.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Sign the papers and I can tell you in detail.”

There was a flurry of movement as everyone read through the papers, found some working biros and hummed and hawed over whether or not to sign the dotted line. Harry somewhat expected this given what they’d been through with Sherlock and Mycroft.

“Nothing harmful will happen to you if you sign the papers. No one will come after you for any information you receive from me about this. At least, no more than anyone would come after you for info on Sherlock. It probably won’t change a thing in your daily lives. It’s just a bit of extract information about me, my past and what I do.”

“And why aren’t they signing papers?” Mary questioned again lightly, feigning calm curiosity.

“Because as my brothers by blood relation, technically they are allowed to know. They’re a bit of a grey area which I will explain but on top of being family they are both in positions to know so they have already been pardoned officially. I’ve made sure” Harry responded quickly, sensing the warning in Mary’s voice.

Everyone signed the papers. As each person finished writing their name the papers glowed brightly, first blue, then gold before dulling back to normal. The signees gazed at their papers in awe for a moment before looking at Harry in askance.

“The documents have been copied and filed in the appropriate places,” he answered gently. “Though there is nothing particularly sensitive written on those documents, you should keep your copies in a safe place where no one is likely to find them.”

The silence lasted another few moments before Harry, nominated by a series of silent glares, pleading eyes and exasperated facial expressions, tried to coax them out of their continued shocked awe.

“So, where do I begin?”

Mary looked around the room at the somewhat lost expressions on the faces of the other guests, finishing on her beloved husband who seemed to be distracting himself by playing peek-a-boo with their baby, making over exaggerated expressions of what were most likely, legitimate emotions. Admittedly, Mary was feeling a little like the rest of the, apparently non-Holmes members of their little group but she also understood why Harry had asked the question, most likely to get any already formed curious questions about an odd event out of the way. This would undoubtedly lead to more questions and confusion if Harry didn’t explain it right however and Mary would rather like to avoid confusion from Harry as much as possible. She got enough of it from Sherlock and Mycroft as it was. Deciding to take the initiative and sighing as she did so, Mary took her baby from John so he wouldn’t have any reason not to focus on the conversation and stated;

“Well, the beginning is usually a good place.”

Harry smiled gratefully at her practicality and took a breath; “Right.”

Then he deflated in a great gusty sigh, drawing a few chuckles as he smiled ruefully and completely ignoring Mycroft and Sherlock’s exasperation. He laughed a little at his own ridiculousness and drew his shoulders back to stand straight.

“You all know me as Harry Black and you’ll be happy to know that is actually and legally my name. However, my full name is Harry James Potter-Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Potter and Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. I’m a Knight of the Realm for services to Queen and Country and I am also a wizard.”

He then cupped his hand and whispered a soft _‘Lumos’_ into them, letting a ball of pure white light grow in his palms before nudging it off to float around the room and the gathered guests, letting them poke and prod at it searching for hidden strings and such. He even made it dance around Mycroft’s head, who batted it irritably to Sherlock who, in contrast, let the light play around his fingers as if he was playing the piano. He then flicked it back to Harry, who guided it up to the ceiling were it burst into a shimmering cloud of golden dust. He smiled softly as the golden specks floated down gently on the people in the room. Transfiguring furniture into animals was great for shock factor and near instant proof of magic as force but Harry had always preferred the simple things. A simple display of what amounted to a wandless parlour trick always brought such joy and wonder to those that saw it. Even those that lived with magic all their lives, though that may have been because it was wandless. And Harry didn’t need them to believe him. They would eventually, but right now he was happy with just being able to tell them.

The silence was deafening.

It also lasted a long and drawn out moment.

Molly finally broke the silence to whisper absently at the ceiling.

“I don’t know what to focus on most. That you’re a Lord, a Knight or a Wizard.”

“Let’s all focus on the wizard bit for now,” Harry replied sheepishly, and like that the moment of residual awe was gone. “It is the reason you signed those pieces of paper after all.”

“Oh yeah? What were they?” Lestrade asked and received incredulous disbelieving stares from Mycroft and Sherlock, who seemed to be reaching the end of their self-restraint in their ability to keep quiet. “Well, I know what they were, I did read them! But it didn’t actually explain what information we weren’t supposed to be disclosing.”

Harry jumped in to save his friend and colleague and answer his question before anyone else could.

“You are keeping the fact that you are aware of magic and that I am a wizard a secret.”

He turned to the rest of the room to continue speak; “Wizards and witches live in a secret and separate world of their own away from muggles. They have done so for centuries out of fear and as such are well behind the times in terms of technology in comparison to the muggle world-“

“Muggles?”

Harry paused in his explanation to turn back to Lestrade to elaborate; “Muggles are what the people of the wizarding world term the non-magical population as.”

Some of the occupants in the room frowned, and Lestrade voiced their collective thoughts;

“I’m not sure I like that”.

Harry shrugged.

“I could call you 'mundane' if you like. That’s the Queen’s preferred term.”

Mary scowled; “I don’t like _that_ at all.”

“Couldn’t we just be normal?” John asked glancing worriedly at his wife’s darkening features. As it was just a glance, he didn’t miss the three Holmes brothers blanching grimace. Sherlock scoffed in disgust, unable to keep his silence at such an idea.

“Of course not, John, don’t be absurd,” he snapped.

“Well, why not?” Lestrade questioned aggressively.

Mycroft rolled his eyes skyward, while Harry and Sherlock smirked sharply at each other. In unison, the trio recited a statement in an unusual mix of tones, including but not limited to, exasperation, amusement, and matter-of-fact;

“Because being normal is disgustingly overrated.”

Lestrade blinked at the sound and the rather united front the three men showed, “Right.”

Harry chuckled at his bewilderment, choosing to put his friend and superior out of his misery.

“Greg, you remember the conversation we had after I first met Sally Donavan? What I said about people like her?”

“You have yet to tell me about that encounter,” Sherlock pitched in before Harry could continue, his eyes gleaming.

“Not currently the topic of conversation, Sherlock. I promise I’ll tell you later,” Harry glanced at Sherlock to see if he was mollified by the promise. Receiving a nod and look from Mycroft that said he wanted to know too, he turned back to Lestrade who was frowning in thought. Suddenly, his face cleared in remembrance and Harry smiled sadly.

“I’d like to think” he began looking at the close friends and family the Holmes brothers had gathered, “that I, _we_ , hold you in significantly higher regard than either Sally Donavan or my maternal Aunt and Uncle, all of whom consider themselves to be ‘normal’.”

* * *


	7. Brother

* * *

They spent much of the rest of the night hearing some of the wondrous, if slightly horrific, tales of Harry’s years in a magical school. Everyone was obviously fascinated, though some were fascinated in more vexing ways than others. Lestrade’s exclamation of; “Wait, that prehistoric snake was a Basilisk?!” had the non-magical Holmes frowning but charitably allowing for his surprise. His follow up of; “Hang on, that was a magical case?” was what had them twitching. It took Harry staring meaningful daggers at his brothers, while he explained how his new role and department would help with cases like that to his co-workers (and their friends), to keep the two genii semi-quiet.

John and Mary shared a look followed by a, surprisingly vicious, silent conversation through which John was nominated to ask the uncomfortable question.

“Harry, where were Mr and Mrs. Holmes in all this? I know they’re… Very open minded, but surely…”

John trailed off not knowing how to phrase either his statement or his question. His pause trailed off into a heavy silence. Again the non-magical Holmes frowned deeply before blanking their expressions completely. Harry’s expression did something similar but his face ended up sad rather than blank.

“I don’t know what they thought. I didn’t hear much from them at the time,” he explained vaguely, like the phrase was half remembered. His features morphed into thoughtfulness as he continued;

“Now that I think about it, we didn’t hear much from any of our parents in school. In fact, I never heard what my friend’s muggle parents thought of the topic of our adventures… Huh.”

This was clearly too much for Mycroft and Sherlock as they rounded on their brother in outrage and began speaking rapidly over each other.

“It’s only common sense for average lovey-dovey parents to be worried for their average child they see every day! I shudder to think what they would feel for a magical child they never see-”

“Their silence on the topic didn’t seem suspicious at all?!”

“-Clearly these matters were being kept quiet!”

“How could you not see that?!” they barked together to complete their verbal bombardment, their volume just shy of a shout. Harry scowled at the two of them petulantly in response.

“You say all that like I’m the brains in the family,” he snarked at the pair, wiggling his fingers so that multi-coloured sparks fluttered of his fingertips, emphasising his point.

John and Lestrade snorted in unison and then avidly _did_ **_not_** look at each other as they tried to rein themselves in. It was quite possibly the most childish they had seen Harry behave in the time they had known him. In that moment, he looked so like Sherlock at his most difficult is was amazing they had to be told the two were related.

Mary, however, was not distracted by the byplay. Glancing at Molly and Mrs. Hudson, the mother of one could tell the other women hadn’t been distracted either. Both looked deeply unsettled but while Mrs. Hudson knew that everyone had their secrets and Molly was of the opinion it wasn’t her place, Mary could spot that a key piece of information that was sitting just out of their reach. She had a feeling that once this particular piece of the puzzle was known, a lot of stray facts, unanswered questions and mysterious quirks surrounding the ‘three’ Holmes brothers would make sense. So, not giving the men a chance to change the subject or allow the argument to dissolve into petty squabbling, Mary picked up where John had stumbled.

“But Harry, _why_ were you not in contact with your parents? As John said, they seem open minded enough for magic to not phase them.”

Something seemed to have snapped in Sherlock because there were no holds barred on his acidic tone.

“If by ‘open minded’, you mean our parents were intelligent enough to not hold the circumstances and consequences of a child’s birth over his head, then yes they-”

“Sherlock,” Harry’s voice was quiet but still managed to stop the verbal offensive in its tracks. “It’s alright.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as every non-Holmes in the room took in the fact that this- this _thing_ , was not just between Harry and his parents. Whatever this elephant was, it had trampled on the family as a whole and those wounds still seemed to linger. Mary stared at Sherlock as he turned with Mycroft to move to the window, standing like silent sentinels with their backs to the group. Everyone else tried not to look at any one Holmes in particular.

Unlike previous occasions during the night, Harry found it frighteningly easy to begin this story. Trailing his gaze around to each person in the room, he quieted his voice into a soothing tone and allowed that to draw the attention of their guests.

“I’m not sure if any of you are aware, or if you’ve guessed as much but I’m actually the eldest of the three of us.”

Harry watched as wide eyes were followed by slow nods with a few shrugs and quirked lips in between. As if it was more of a surprise to have the theory confirmed than it was to hear the fact. Never mind that Harry looked more like the middle child at best, going on physical attributes. Shaking his head to rid himself of that train of thought, Harry continued.

“I _am_ sure neither Sherlock nor Mycroft have told you much about our parents. The one thing that is fairly obvious when you meet them is this; aside from both being terribly intelligent and incredibly pragmatic, they are very much in love. They have been since they were young. As such, certain ‘social standards’, for lack of a better phrase, weren’t stuck to with the same ferocity as the average couple.”

As the eldest in the room and of a different generation, Mrs. Hudson was the first to catch on to what Harry was getting at. It was with sympathetic certainty she stated;

“You were born out of wedlock.”

“No, just conceived out of wedlock.” –Harry turned his smiling face to Lestrade- “Can’t get away with calling me a bastard unless I’m acting like one.”

Quiet chuckles rippled around the room as the bubble of tension burst, for a moment at least, and allowed Harry’s captive audience to be eased back into the rhythm of his storytelling.

“My pending arrival did speed up their plans a bit, but as I’ve said they were very pragmatic and practical so they assumed this was only a small hiccup in the grand scheme of things. However, as I’m sure John and Mary can attest, the reality of having a child is a bit different. Despite their best efforts, they were struggling to manage with me and because of how they got married and how I came to be, they didn’t have a great support network… Then I started showing signs of accidental magic.”

Harry paused for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts and build himself up. Then his gaze flitted to meet each of his listeners’, seeming intent on willing them to comprehend the subtext of what he was saying.

“You need to understand, accidental magic is an emotional response from a child and there’s no control in it. Most of the time its simple fixes for simple desires, but it can be anything from summoning your favourite teddy to your hands to teleporting from one room to another. I’ve even heard of kids accidentally setting things alight or turning an object into a live animal. That can be a lot even if you are a magical guardian. As clever and wonderful and loving as they were, our parents weren’t magical.”

Mrs. Hudson was not the only one who was quick on the uptake this time but she was the only one whose expression was that of understanding. Sympathetic once again, but still understanding. Harry focused on her face, explaining to her, rather than to the dawning trepidation on the surrounding expressions.

“They told me it was one of the hardest things they’ve ever had to do. They _desperately_ wanted to keep me. But they couldn’t protect me from my abilities and had no way of encouraging me to control them when I was so young.”

There was another echoing pause as Harry allowed his listeners to digest his words and his friends allowed him time to mourn the ‘what-ifs’. Shaking himself free of his thoughts again, Harry bulled on.

“I don’t know what options they had or how they met the Potters, we’ve never really spoken about that part. But ultimately, I was blood adopted by my parents-”

“Blood adopted?” Molly blushed at both her own interruption and the attention it gained her, but she couldn’t help her own inquisitiveness. Harry didn’t seem to mind the intellectual break too much either, as he rubbed the back of his neck and tilted his head to think about how best to answer.

“It’s a bit complicated. I looked into it out of curiosity when I was younger and all of the specifics went straight over my head. From what I remember, it’s not used as often as it used to be and depending on how you go about it there are quite a few variations that range from legal to illegal. The version my parents chose basically allowed me to keep both sets of parents.”

“…What?”

“In theory, I genetically have four parents. It’s like our parents, the Holmes, created me and gave me the basics. Then my parents, the Potters, designed and developed the finer details of how I’d look and what I could do. It’s not the best or possibly the nicest way of describing it but…” –Harry shrugged- “Though it does mean if I ever have a DNA test, it just looks like the sample is contaminated.”

Molly looked a bit disheartened by this, which was an easier expression to observe than Sherlock’s suspicious gaze. He had turned from his post at the window when Molly had asked her question and looked as if he were mentally weighing the truth of Harry’s words, which Harry tried not to think about. Harry had no idea what DNA or a blood sample would look like from him, especially considering the cocktail of venom and phoenix tears in there as well. He was _not_ going to let their two resident scientists know that though. Harry did not feel like being turned into a voodoo guinea pig for blood donation, thank you very much.

“So, the Potters?” Lestrade asked leadingly, wondering why Harry had never mentioned before today.

“Died protecting me when I was barely even a toddler.”

“Oh…” Lestrade sighed, thinking guiltily that, that was a fairly good reason for never bringing them up in conversation. Harry, ever merciful with his colleague, friend and mentor, carried on with his story.

“There was a civil war going on within the magical community at the time. I won’t go into the details of all that right now, if you don’t mind, but ultimately my survival the night my parents died meant I became a bit of a celebrity. And because of a variety of factors, which I can only guess start with secrecy and end somewhere around bigotry, I ended up being placed with my mother’s sister rather than back with the Holmes-”

“Where you rightfully belonged” Mycroft interjected from behind their resident wizard, spooking audience and wizard alike. Neither had noticed Mycroft and Sherlock move from their place beside the window, but both now positioned themselves as part of the group. While Sherlock leaned casually against the arm of the couch, Mycroft once again took a lookout position, standing slightly to the side of where Harry was seated on the couch. Harry looked up to his stoic brother’s intent gaze and gave one deep nod with a smile. He did not draw attention to the solid and deliberate hand on his back either. Mycroft already knew he appreciated both the sentiment and the steadiness. Harry turned back to their gathering instead.

“The Holmes and the Potters had been staying in semi-regular contact with each other right up until the Potters died, so our parents were pretty concerned when they started getting nothing but radio silence. They had no way of finding out what had happened to either me or the Potters because of how insular the magical world is. They only found out I had survived several years later. And even then, it was by pure chance as well.”

Harry’s intent expression faded into something calmer and he let out a huff at the thought of ‘chance’ bringing his family together again.

“It’s funny, I don’t remember much of the day we met, where we were or how even I got there. I just remember the playground, playing with Mycroft and Sherlock and the smiles on our parents’ faces,” Harry smiled at his vague memories and if the other guests noticed the melancholic expressions on the other Holmes, then they chose not to draw attention to them. Instead, they stayed focused on Harry as he stated softly; “That was a great day.”

“It was,” Sherlock’s near instant and blatant agreement was only surprising because of his silence since this family history lesson began.

"The first of many of great days” Mycroft’s moment of sentimentality was less surprising than the darkening of his visage. “While they lasted, at least.”

As the surrounding group watched Harry and Sherlock’s expressions darken right along with their brother’s, Mary couldn’t help but think that this was the crux of the family divide. Gently taking her snoozing baby from John once again, Mary made sure her little family was settled and comfortable as she mentally braced herself for something she was fairly certain she didn’t want to hear. She could only hope the rest of their surrounding family was doing the same.

The Holmes brothers certainly looked to be mounting a defence as Mycroft and Sherlock suddenly seemed to switch roles; while Mycroft seated himself regally beside Harry on the couch, Sherlock took Mycroft’s place standing watch behind his two elder brothers.

Harry’s tone matched his darkened visage; “As I’m sure I told you all at some point, my mother’s family, the Dursleys, and I don’t get on. Our relationship, if you could call it that, was far worse when I was a child. They were particularly resentful of the fact they had been saddled with the freakish offspring of a couple who’d got themselves blo-”

Mycroft cleared his throat and Sherlock glared hard at the back of Harry’s head. The wizard closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding it for a number of seconds before letting it out in a gusty sigh. When he opened his eyes, all three brothers carried on as if nothing had happened, Harry picking up his stride like he hadn’t been purposefully interrupted.

“The Dursleys didn’t want me, never did. So when they became aware of a connection between the Holmes and me, and of how willing our parents were to take me back, they were tripping over themselves to help with exchanging custody of me. They didn’t know exactly how we were related but it was enough to get rid of me, which was all they cared about.”

Everyone looked fairly confused at this point, sharing subtle anxious looks between each other, as it was obvious that Harry did not end up with the Holmes family as planned. If Harry noticed his listeners’ trepidation he didn’t show it.

“I spent my eighth birthday with the Holmes where, on top of actual birthday presents, I received my own room, a wardrobe of clothes that fit me and toys to call my own. The custody transfer wasn’t completely finished but I had moved in with the Holmes and it was only technicalities left. Two weeks later, a group of wizards broke into the Holmes house, altered our memories and removed any trace that I had been there. I was back with the Dursleys the next morning.”

Stunned silence echoed around the room as its occupants tried to process Harry’s blunt statement. Lestrade, John and Mary seemed to be struggling with the explanation the most, from the professional point of view as a Police Detective, Doctor and retired Agent, as well as a personal one as both friends and as parents. Sherlock fidgeted restlessly in the echo and Mycroft flicked invisible lint off his suit jacket while Harry waited patiently for the questions that were sure to come.

“They just-” John pinched the bridge of his nose and took a breath. “They just waltzed into a private home, took a child while altering your- What do you mean altered your memories?”

On the surface, Harry seemed to be unreasonably calm as he answered; “Magicals as a race are quite paranoid but often have very little sense to back it up. For example, they have a spell known as ‘Obliviation’, or ‘obliviate’ to use the casting vernacular, which erases memories and is frequently used to ‘protect the magical world from discovery’. Generally it’s only used to erase a short length of time, such as the fifteen minutes where a muggle witnessed an example of magic being used. But a skilled and detail-oriented caster, like the ones who paid us a visit, could remove every memory of a certain topic.”

“Like the existence of a child,” Mary stated curling her sleeping babe closer to her chest as if that would protect them both from the horrible new reality they were facing.

Harry nodded once; “Like the existence of a child.”

“But how cou-?” Lestrade burst out, cutting off his question to scrub his hands through his hair still trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. “Why would they do that? Why would they go to a random house to remove a child who had just found a better home?”

“They wouldn’t.”

Lestrade’s head shot up from its bowed position in his hands, his face covered in his shock; “What? But you said-”

“Yes, that they came to the Holmes house. Not some random house, _my_ house” Harry turned to Mary to explain; making sure she, at least, was taking in what he was saying. “Something else you should understand about the general magical populace is that, unless dealing with it directly, they like to pretend that the non-magical world doesn’t exist. Some say they don’t care or they look down on non-magicals but I think magicals still fear them on some level. No witch or wizard who grew up in the magical world wants to deal with the anything in the non-magical counterpart, if they can help it. Or anyone.”

Cautiously, Mary nodded in understanding of what their resident wizard was saying, allowing her tense frame to relax fractionally around her child and curl into John when he wrapped his arm across her shoulders. After a glancing check on his wife, John looked up at Harry again; “If they don’t care about the non-magicals, why bother you and the Holmes?”

Mycroft huffed a frustrated sigh through his nose, turning a glare on John; “Were you not listening when-”

His rant was cut off before it could even gather steam with a single hand from each of his brothers to remind Mycroft that it wasn’t his story to tell or his first time listening to it. Though the hand Harry used to pat his knee looked an awful lot more gentle than the grip Sherlock had on his shoulder.

Making his own glancing check on his siblings, Harry answered with his consistent calm; “Remember when I said I became a bit of a celebrity the night my parents died? I have very little doubt that was the main reason they cared where I was placed, even if it wasn’t the real reason. We never found out who the group of wizards were, whether they were sent by the Wizarding government or if they were part of a vigilante group, but whoever they were they didn’t know the full extent of our connection and also cared enough about children that they didn’t fully obliviate myself, Mycroft or Sherlock.”

“I don’t understand.”

The Holmes looked to Mrs. Hudson’s resolute stare from where she was sitting huddled with Molly. Molly’s stare was just as stubborn but traces of anxiety could be seen in her irises. Mrs. Hudson may have asked the question but both women were equally confused. Where either Sherlock or Mycroft would’ve been exasperated with the statement, Harry did not take it at face value.

“It’s a very recent discovery on my part,” Harry’s tone had taken on a sardonic twist; “But apparently, it’s highly illegal to obliviate children. Even non-magical children. The obliviation spell could potentially do damage to their magical and mental development, even if cast correctly. So, while the nice muggle couple who discovered ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ forgot they ever met him, I woke up with the Dursleys thinking my magic and my rediscovered family were a dream.”

“And Sherlock? Mycroft?” Molly asked hesitantly.

Harry froze for a split second, making seem like he flinched as he turned to look at his brothers. Mycroft didn’t bat an eyelash but Sherlock skipped his gaze from Harry to John to Molly before answering with a stiff but simple;

“We built our Mind Palaces for a reason.”

Molly nodded in understanding and though John shot a look at Harry, no one made the mistake of asking for further details on that front. Just as Harry was going to shuffle the story along, now more than ready for this sharing experience to be over, Molly spoke up again.

“Are our memories going to be erased for knowing these things?” her voice holds a slight tremor, like she already knows the answer and doesn’t want to hear it and though she hasn’t moved from her place beside Mrs. Hudson, her body language makes her seem smaller and meeker than any of the people in the room have ever seen her.

“No!”

That firm growl is followed by a rush of warmth that encompasses every non-magical in the room. Like giant, fiery tigers have curled protectively around each of them growling at the world in defiance. Mary swears she could feel the brush of fur on her arm, while John and Lestrade have turned their heads trying to catch a better glimpse of the burnt stripes in their peripherals. Mrs. Hudson sinks into the rumbling warmth around her but Molly’s stare is glued to Harry’s eerily glowing irises.

“No, that will not be happening,” the wizard declares it like a fact and Molly can do nothing but believe him.

“Harold is right-” Mycroft begins before being cut off by said wizard.

“Do _not_ call me ‘Harold’. My name is Harry,” he growls, closing his eyes again to rein himself in.

As he grumbles under his breath about how it’s not his fault he’s the only one in their family with a ‘normal’ name, the invisible beasts unfurl themselves gracefully from their charges leaving an echo of warmth behind. Mycroft ignores his brother’s grumbling and the shiver that slithers down his own spine at the absence of his brother’s magic.

“-we keep an eye out for magicals who appear where they shouldn’t and while he may focus in finding murderers these days, it would be more accurate to say that Sherlock specializes in finding people” Mycroft measured explanation gives more comfort than he realises to the other people in the room. “And of course, Harold will be providing you with protections against a variety of memory charms and hexes.”

Harry glares at his insufferable brother while their surrounding friends and colleagues come to terms with this specific brand of Holmes caring. He’s half tempted to hit the minor government official with a stinging hex, but that would just prove his lack of control or overreaction (whichever Mycroft thinks it was, Harry sometimes can’t be sure) and exacerbate the issue. He decides to ignore it for the moment and follow Mycroft’s lead in reassuring everyone in the safety of their memories.

“The documents you signed earlier give you authorisation to know about the magical world, so really you shouldn’t have any problems. But for obvious reasons, I’m a paranoid person and am already working on getting you protective amulets to go with the protective charms I’d like to place on some of the things you use or wear every day. Like Greg’s badge, for example” Harry gives a nod towards Lestrade as he finishes.

Lestrade hovers a hand over his hip, cursing that the one night he doesn’t take his own advice to bring his badge, it’s the one night it would be useful to have it. He lifts his hovering hand to run it through his hair again; “Is that what you did for your parents when they remembered?”

He doesn’t realise his mistake until he looks up again to see two blank faces and one sad one, reminiscent of when this entire conversation started.

“The months following the incident were… rough, to say the least” Harry begins again in his calm tone. “My parents may have still known that I existed but they didn’t remember meeting me in the park and I was convinced the family I had called my own were a particularly vivid dream that was becoming more hazy by the day. Mycroft and Sherlock, who were both under the age of eight may I remind you, were the only ones who had any inkling that something was amiss. When we eventually met up again, it was only Mycroft, Sherlock and I. We were as careful as children can be but it became obvious over the years that there was no one we could turn to for help. We didn’t even know who we were up against.

“It got a little easier once I got to Hogwarts, purely because we had some actual resources to work with. But again, it became fairly obvious that I had a role to play and the Holmes family were in danger because of it. I wasn’t able to do anything myself during my school years because of age restrictions on performing magic but I was able to send information, amulets and suggestions to Mycroft and Sherlock so they had something to work with. By the time I was legally able to do magic outside of school, the civil war had heated up again and I was in the thick of it.”

For once, John was able to pick up on something that a lot of the other listener’s missed.

“Harry, when was the last time you saw Mr and Mrs. Holmes?”

Harry shot his friend a quick smirk as he replied; “Just last week.”

John made a face that had the other guests snorting but he kept a hard stare on Harry, letting him know he wasn’t getting away that easily. Harry sighed in acknowledgement.

“That John Doe case? The one that was stabbed with the basilisk fang?” Harry watched John, as well as Lestrade and Molly, nod in recognition. “I went to visit them that weekend. That was the first time I’d spoken to them in person since the incident when I was eight.”

John closes his eyes sadly, having expected to hear something like that. Lestrade and Mary mimic him, while Molly and Mrs. Hudson gasp.

“So long?” is all Mrs. Hudson can muster to query.

Harry shrugged dejectedly; “The magical world would’ve noticed if I started visiting openly. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, never mind my family. So I stayed away until I was sure every possible protection had been set up, as well as a few other plans and then…”

The wizard’s eyes become suspiciously mischievous as he finishes with a nonchalant; “I took a leave of absence.”

Lestrade and John shared a sceptical look, having quickly grasped how playful Harry could be when given half a chance. They decided not to comment on it for their own wellbeing and plausible deniability.

“I was going to come back sooner, but then a man named Magnussen started skulking around,” Harry seems to scowl at the mere thought of this person. In contrast, Sherlock seemed to light up like a firecracker at the mention of the name and rounded on Mycroft with a vengeance.

“It still puzzles me Mycroft, how you could stand to let Magnussen have such reign over your family, as well as your fellow countrymen,” Sherlock’s drawl and dry glare were completely at odds with the way he had turned to Mycroft. But the glare was one that Mycroft returned tenfold.

“As I have explained to you, dear brother, he was intelligent enough not to go after the wrong people-“

“That you know of,” Sherlock cut him off.

“And as you are well aware, Sherlock, I know quite a lot,” Mycroft regained his verbal ground, “I am curious as to why you dislike him still. You usually admire such intelligence and move on when it passes.”

Sherlock’s glare heated; “He was a disgusting excuse for a human being-“

“Gentlemen,” Harry’s tone was sharp as a weapon’s blade and the look in his eyes was just as dangerous. So cutting was his tone that both Sherlock and Mycroft spun to look at him in surprise and the other occupants in the room, who had been silently watching the brothers fight, let their eyes flicker to Harry’s darkened face. Sure that he had his brothers’ attention, Harry continued, his tone still sharp;

“We are not having this ‘discussion’ here and now, if ever. Pack it in or leave, am I clear?”

Though Sherlock scowled and Mycroft looked mutinous, both knew better than to test Harry’s patience at the moment after the lengthy discussion they’d already had. So both nodded and added a soft “sorry Harry” in response, with Sherlock being somewhat more sincere than Mycroft.

Harry’s expression swiftly shifted into one of fond, if tired, exasperation; “Nigh on twenty years, and you both still forget there is often more than the three of us in a room.”

Sherlock’s face tinted a light pink and Mycroft shuffled uncomfortably as they realised that there was indeed, an audience of close friends baring witness to the ‘discussion’.

“Apologies,” Mycroft spoke graciously, far more used to the social niceties, while Sherlock coughed and reached for his violin.

Both ignored the amusement on their guests’ faces, in preference to a silent debate as to who would be best to question Harry on his stormy attitude towards the Magnussen topic. Sherlock rolled his eyes discreetly when he was inevitably elected under Mycroft’s smug, if somewhat envious gaze. He turned to play another varied collection of songs on his violin, biding his time and waiting for the opportune moment to speak to Harry in peace.

It was a while before Sherlock managed to grab him for a private word in a quiet moment, but when he did, he almost didn’t ask his question because Harry looked as close to stress free as he ever got. Pushing that thought away, he ploughed on and watched with small regret as the other man tensed.

“Harry, you seemed very irritable with the discussion between Mycroft and me. Can I ask why? After all, it’s not as if you’ve never seen us argue-”

Sherlock stopped as Harry let out a heaving sigh. Sherlock would admit, if only to himself, that the discussion that had started to take place was going to be infinitely more heated had it been allowed to continue. He knew this because it was not the first time this subject had been brought up between him and Mycroft. It was, however, the first time there had been more than the two of them in the room, or even within hearing distance of the topic. Magnussen was a poisonous subject between the two of them, as the Nordic man had affected Sherlock in a way that was as unforgettable as ‘The Woman’. However, Sherlock had not thought Magnussen was such a black subject to Harry too.

“If this is about fighting my battles, or trying to play the silly ‘Peace Keeper’ role-“

“No, Locksie no,” Harry cut across his accusations with another gusty sigh. Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, he began yet another explanation.

“Sherlock, I am quite aware that you are more than capable of fighting your own battles. You’ve been doing that nearly as long as I’ve known you and I’m very aware of the lost cause that is peace between Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.”

Harry managed a strained smile as he glanced at Sherlock, who was watching him intensely and not in the least bit distracted by the attempt at humour. Seeing this, Harry’s face become serious and sombre.

“I know you and Mycroft have been arguing about this between yourselves. I know you two, remember? I also know that it’s more heated than the usual quarrels you have on a daily basis. And while I would like nothing more than to pull you both aside and knock some sense into you, I can’t and won’t. You both seem to be either unaware or ignoring the fact that Magnussen is just as much a touchy subject for me as he is for you.

“I’ve met the man and he was nearly the perfect representation of everything I hate in a person. Let’s ignore, for the moment, that I am the most emotionally driven and emotionally aware person in our group of three. Ignoring how he annoyed me, that man, this topic, is the trigger for nearly every reason I have to be upset with you and Mycroft recently.”

Sherlock made to interject, but Harry was having none of it.

“No Sherlock. You asked, so you listen. That man is the reason you went back on the drugs scene. I know it was for a case but that does not change the fact that it was a stupid and unhealthy decision on your part. Not only that, Mycroft knew and let it happen! After I specifically asked him to look after you while I was unable to, just like I asked you to do the same. Not only that, we both know that had I not taken that shot, Mycroft would’ve let you put a bullet in that man’s head _and_ let you suffer the rather significant consequences. Even in my circles, I still heard rumours of you being potentially sent on a one way trip to the East for your _attempt_.”

There was a moment of silence as Harry caught his breath and Sherlock tried to think through what had been said. He wanted to say something, to form a reply but he just couldn’t seem to find the words. Harry continued speaking softly.

“Mycroft let me down. He disappointed me and it’s going to be a while before I can forgive him. He knows that. He knows he’ll have to work for my forgiveness too and he doesn’t like that. It doesn’t help that Mycroft still isn’t happy with me for shooting the twat in the head in the first place. And on top of all that, we’ve both been keeping an eye on your bad habits as well, which I’m sure you’re aware of and I appreciate how gracious you’re being about it, with me at least.”

Harry sighed, massaging tiredly at his forehead, temples and eyes as he finished.

“To sum it all up, I see Magnussen is the trigger for this entire mess between the three of us and for that reason alone, I hate him more than I probably have a right to. But until each of us looks at our own reasons for our ‘irritation’, to use your terminology, and we admit to the reasons behind our responses, this discussion is not going to get any easier and it is not going to go away. And, as it is, I can’t help you with that, since I can barely even help myself.”

Another pause was quickly interrupted by a call for Harry’s attention. As he walked away, Sherlock was left feeling strangely hollow.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late but it could be worse... You could've been reading it on Fanfiction and waiting *years*.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!!


	8. Future (Epilogue)

* * *

A few weeks after the conglomeration of celebrations in 221B, a call came in to the Yard about a number of bodies that had been found down around the Oxo Tower wharf. First glance made it seem like it may have been an interrupted deal of some kind but as some of the bodies had been ‘eccentrically dressed’, Lestrade had Harry come along with him just in case. Admittedly, eccentric dress codes weren’t exactly hard to come by in a city like London. The fact that it had been mentioned in the initial call in however, usually meant something magical was involved, which was something that amused Lestrade and Sherlock to no end. They had started teasing Harry for his un-magical fashion sense and threatening to gift him some brightly coloured clothing to make up for his lacking wardrobe. Harry thought he might get some kind of sympathy or understanding from John when he grumbled to him about it, as John tended to stay quiet whenever the teasing started up. Unfortunately, the one time Harry complained about it to John, the Doctor had smiled slyly and said something about how a green dickie bow would be a nice piece to start with.

Harry had been pleased (and secretly relieved) to find that everyone at the gathering had taken the revelation that he was a wizard rather well. There were a few random questions about the things magic could do, what creatures actually existed and if cackling on a broom at the full moon was really a thing but these were generally asked in the spur of the moment curiosity. Molly, of course, asked more than ‘a few’ questions and continued to do so every chance she got.

She had a list.

A _long_ list.

It had gotten to the point that Harry had started to meet up with her for lunches just so they could work through it, which was good but also inevitably meant that more questions were added to her list with each Q&A Lunch session. Lestrade found this highly amusing as well, though for his own sanity, Harry never asked if it was the lunches or the scientist’s curiosity that his senior found humorous. All in all, aside from a number of ‘Reparo’ charms, a few ‘Accio’ retrievals and one memorable night of entertaining baby Watson with his “pretty lights”, everything was business as usual for Harry.

With his friends and colleagues at least.

Things with his brothers since the gathering had been… Strange.

The truce between Mycroft and Harry seemed to have extended far beyond the single night they had agreed upon and while the two were still avoiding each other somewhat, when they did interact, it was almost cordial. Which was the main thing Harry found strange, as Mycroft usually reserved cordial for ‘clients’. Sherlock was only marginally better. He already treated with Harry in a more favourable way than he did anyone else save for John and Mary, but even he had nearly been… chipper, for lack of a better word, since the gathering. The two non-magical Holmes had obviously had some private conversations, dissecting the ‘Magical Show and Tell’ session that had taken place that night and Harry’s responses to it, emotional, mental and physical alike. They had been doing that for as long as Harry had known them but this was the first time they had tried to respond in kind, rather than come to him directly with their conclusions. It almost seemed like they were trying to ease a burden of some kind for him.

Harry would rather they have done their usual and come to him directly with their finished analysis of the night, because he always tended to learn more from them about people and emotions than anywhere else. He had decided to play along for the moment though. He was fairly certain their behaviour was leading up to something but even if it wasn’t it, couldn’t last for much longer. Neither of them had the patience for continuous chipper and cordiality with the general public, never mind with him. If it _did_ last for much longer, Harry thought he might go to their parents for advice or even directly to his brothers. He didn’t want them to stress themselves, emotionally or otherwise, over something he wasn’t terribly bothered by. He preferred Mycroft and Sherlock when they were unfiltered anyway.

“Right. Here we go again,” Lestrade muttered from the driver’s seat, pulling Harry from his musings as the senior detective pulled into the bicycle lane on the Doggett’s side of Blackfriar Bridge.

The crime scene had already been cordoned off before they’d arrived, which was no mean feat, considering the quickest route to the scene was next to a tube entrance, a pub and the pedestrian walkway along the Thames. Still, as awkward as it was, both the Yard and the public seemed to be making it work. As Harry and Lestrade stepped out of the car, they caught sight of Sergeant Donovan walking over to meet them. She sent a grim, if companionable, smile to greet them as she walked, which did not bode well for the scene they were about to see.

Harry and Donovan hadn’t really worked with each other since the first venomous meeting in Lestrade’s office. Aside from one or two cases where Harry had still been shadowing Lestrade, their work assignments were completely different and they didn’t really have a reason to interact. However the first few times they did interact, despite being terribly stilted and uncomfortable, Donovan was courageous enough to take the first step and was exceedingly helpful. And Harry always did have a soft spot for courage and bravery. To be fair to the woman, she really was a competent sergeant and the only reason Harry was short with her was for the language she’d used to describe their consultant detective. Who just happened to be his brother, which would make his reason for being short tempered with her (if it were known) seem very petty. Thankfully, no one had questioned the familiarity between Harry and Sherlock so far, which meant Harry was safe in his budding ‘tough but fair’ reputation for the time being.

All of which was why Harry made a decisive effort to improve their working relationship. He welcomed her second opinions on cases he was having difficulty with, praised her help and work ethics and made sure she knew he was aware and appreciative of her talents in her work. All while trying not to be a creep or seem like he was coming onto her. Whatever emotional plate-spinning or juggling act Harry was performing, it seemed to be going well. While they spoke about next to nothing other than work, Donovan seemed comfortable enough in the knowledge Harry wasn’t going to bite her head off again unless she gave him a reason to. They had relaxed around each other enough for a little banter to appear in their conversations and the atmosphere between them was much more pleasant. Something that Lestrade looked to be endlessly relieved and grateful for.

“So, what’ve we got?” Lestrade questioned as the Sergeant reached them beside the car.

Just as Donovan opened her mouth to give them the brief overview, a constable called for Lestrade’s help with a gawker who was now trying to do more than gawk. That is to say, a constable called “Detective” while looking toward their trio and Harry helpfully nominated Lestrade with a sharp shove to his back and a sly foot to his ankles. The result of which made it look like Lestrade was literally tripping over himself to help out a man in need. Shooting a glare over his shoulder, Lestrade marched off to deal with the problem. Harry looked back at Donovan with an amused grin.

“Walk and talk?”

Donovan rolled her eyes but Harry was happy to note that there was a slight smile on her face as she moved to head back to the scene. Before the sergeant could turn or Harry could even take a step to follow her, Sherlock seemed to appear from nowhere beside Harry. Knowing that couldn’t be the case, despite there being magic in the family, Harry glanced around and spotted John’s heavily breathing form jogging up behind his brother from the direction of the bridge.

“Harry,” Sherlock greeted, while John gave a floppy wave of his hand trying to catch his breath. Sherlock glanced at John before quickly looking away with an amused quirk to his lips and his eyes locked on Donovan’s form. His expression became neutral as he flicked his gaze back to his elder brother.

Unfortunately for Sherlock, Harry’s attention was on Donovan. She had an exasperated look on her face and Harry was hoping that had less to do with their consultant’s latest appearance and more to do with the fact that she kept being interrupted before she could report. Harry watched as the woman’s gaze flicked to him and her facial features settled on something contemplative. Then she took a deep breath and focused on their newest arrivals.

“Sherlock, John,” Sergeant Donovan greeted. “Are you here to help with the investigation?”

Harry gave a small smile, grateful that she was even attempting to be civil. He sent her a nod of appreciation. Donovan bopped her head slightly in acknowledgement but otherwise didn’t react to her superior. Harry was impressed and rather pleased considering he still hadn’t told Sherlock how his initial meeting with Sergeant Sally Donovan had gone. Or any of their other interactions, for that matter. He needn’t have worried.

Sherlock stared, wide eyed and speechless at the Sergeant then blurted out the loudest thing going through his mind at that moment.

“Who are you and what have you done with Sally Donovan?”

“Locksie,” Harry hummed in mild reprimand. “Play nice. She’s trying, so you probably should too.”

Donovan shot a surprised look at her present superior; though whether she was surprised by his support or his familiarity with the consultant, Harry couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, Sherlock turned his astounded stare on Harry before his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Oh, I see! You can’t seriously-”

“Black! Get over here!”

There was a startled squeal from across the road and the small group of investigators turned to watch as a rotund man in tweed ran away as fast as his little legs would carry him, crying;

“Sirius Black! Black back from beyond the grave!! Merlin save us!!”

There was a stunned pause before Harry tilted his head and smirked at his brother.

“Pay up. I told you they’d run.”

Ignoring their baffled companions, Sherlock huffed and pulled out his phone to bombard Mycroft with irritable text messages about what had just occurred; ignoring the fact Mycroft had probably just been shown it from a street camera by his ever efficient PA.

“He didn’t run from you,” Sherlock sulked, practically stabbing his phone with his thumbs as he texted his vexation. “He ran from a poorly timed amalgamation of words.”

“Po-tate-toe, Po-tah-toe! He still ran from the Black name! And you can remind Mycroft of that fact too! Because he owes me money as well,” Harry grinned smugly as he finished, internally quite pleased that Sherlock seemed to finally have lost his chipper patience and was back to his usual self.

With a gleeful bounce in his step, Harry gestured to Donovan as he finally started moving towards the crime scene. Donovan hesitated a split second, her gaze still focused on the spot where the man in tweed had done a runner. She quickly shook herself from her daze and walked in step with Harry, ignoring Sherlock and, a no longer huffing, John trailing behind them. She clearly couldn’t keep a hold of her curiosity though;

“Sir,” she began with hesitation. “If you don’t mind my asking, what just happened?”

“I’d be surprised if you didn’t ask, if I’m honest,” Harry chuckled at the Sergeant. He took a moment to figure out how to best phrase his answer.

“Black isn’t an uncommon name, but there is a specific family with the surname who are particularly infamous in certain circles. A family who I’m distantly related to. It’s not necessarily a connection to be proud of, considering people 'of Black blood' are all supposed to be varying levels of mad. However, while my fleece my not be pristine, I am what one would call a white sheep in an otherwise Black family.”

Donovan shot a wary, sceptical look at Harry for that answer but neither of them had a chance to say more on the topic.

“Black! Stop flirting and get over here!”

Harry rolled his eyes with a derisive snort; “Lestrade, if that’s what you call flirting, then it’s amazing you even _got_ a girlfriend never mind managing to keep her until marriage.”

Ignoring Lestrade’s grumbling reminder about not wanting to talk about his marriage (and the hard shove Harry got for his comment), everyone got to work processing the scene. It took a while to take the forensic photos, check for I.D and other distinguishing marks and gather up the bodies and any other evidence lying around between Sherlock’s insults, John’s confusion and Lestrade’s demands. Harry had resigned himself to play mediator between Sergeant Donovan and Sherlock but found she was doing her best to stay out of everyone’s way while making her own examination of the crime scene. Harry somewhat wished he could do the same but ended up being dragged into the byplay with the Detective, the Doctor and the Consultant anyway.

Eventually, they finished processing and packing up everything to be taken back to the lab, the mortuary and/or the Office. Ironically enough, while the eccentrically dressed bodies were muggles, the other plain clothed body had a wand holster as well as a couple of sickles and some owl treats. Harry had a potential theory as to what happened that ran parallel to Sherlock’s but decided to check in with the magical end of things before saying anything to either Lestrade or Sherlock. With Sergeant Donovan and the team gone with the evidence, it was just Sherlock, John and Lestrade left standing with Harry when his phone chimed.

While the other three men discussed who would follow what leads in the case, Harry opened his notifications to find an email from Mycroft with the subject:

_For Posterity._

There was no other text in the email, just a video attachment with a preview still of the retreating wizard in tweed from the vantage point of a security camera. Harry probably would have left it to watch and form a reply later, had he not seen the curiously long running time on the video. Heeding his curiosity, Harry pressed play and proceeded to watch the Tweed Wizard’s journey throughout the streets of London. What possessed the wizard to run instead of apparate, Harry had no idea but Tweed’s hysterical passage incited mild panic in the hearts of his fellow magicals and dubious looks from those with more common sense.

The clip ended at the Leaky Cauldron with the final still showing the open door of the magical pub allowing a stream of panicked magicals to run out of the establishment like rats off a sinking ship. Before the clip even reached its end, it had Harry leaning on the closest wall for support crying with laughter. He refused to let Sherlock, John or Lestrade see his phone until the clip is finished but his incapacitated state against the wall allowed an impatient Sherlock to wrench the device out of his hand and start the clip again. The second screening of the clip didn’t incite the same response in its new audience as it did in Harry but while John and Lestrade come away from it baffled, Sherlock supported a somewhat wicked expression. He doesn’t so much field John and Lestrade’s confused questions, but more accurately went on a highly detailed rant about the cowardice and idiocy that runs rampant through wizarding society. The results are the same however, as John and Lestrade both came away with a general understanding of what happened while Harry collected himself.

Harry’s phone beeped again with another notification and Sherlock, having lost interest in it now that he’s seen what held his brother’s attention, carelessly tossed the device back to its owner. Used to this, Harry simply snatched it out of the air and opened the notification without a word while John and Lestrade interrupted Sherlock to chastise him for his carelessness with others belongings. Ignoring their bickering, Harry found another email from Mycroft, this time with the subject;

_Peace Talks?_

Again there was no other text but there were a number of self-explanatory documents relating to the censure and restraint of the general wizarding public, all of which were completely legal, if newly created just for him. Smiling at his political brother’s special brand of care, Harry replied through text rather than email.

_Good start._

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it may not seem like it from my posting schedule here on Ao3 (which I'm still a little amazed I was able to stick to) but, this is kind of the end of an era for me. I posted the first chapter of this story on Fanfiction in January 2014 and it has been on my mind every year since.  
> While I have finished other multi-chapter stories, none have been as long as this and it seems strange that I'll not have to think about it again. 
> 
> After how the last chapter turned out, I wasn't sure that this was an appropriate ending but it is a hopeful one which is what I wanted and was aiming for, so I'm happy with that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it! Stay safe!!


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